


Your Friendly Neighbour

by Rumoris



Category: South Park
Genre: Alien AU, M/M, Pining, a callout fic for authors, alien!Kenny, author!Kyle, minor background stendy, timezone differences are even worse when one of you lives in space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-01-05 15:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18368978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumoris/pseuds/Rumoris
Summary: Kyle Broflovski's career as a sci-fi author is about to end, unless he comes up with a mindblowing shortstory that proves, he can actually write stories that can be enjoyed by common people. The fact that his only fan is from a faraway planet does not really help his case either and definitely does not help him get any recognition in his own anthology. However, it might be a start for something entirely new...





	1. A Coffee Break Past Midnight

Kyle Broflovski had finally hit a wall and he was fighting with the urge to scream his complaints into the night. Instead, he just kept playing with the platen roller of his typewriter by punching the space bar with a repeated monotone motion until he reached the end of the paper, then he pushed back the roller, listening to the satisfying click before starting the whole process again. Oh no… He didn’t run out of ink ribbons.

               He ran out of ideas.

And this was the power of deadlines in the works. Yesterday’s ideas still kept swirling in his brain in a weird carousel-esque dance, offering guidance for the fledgling author in order to even start his newest work. But then again yesterday he still had no idea about declining sales, his mediocre writing skills and the fact that the previously solid ground started shaking violently under his entire career. Not until a private meeting with the editor of _Absolutum_ , where a man, his Employer, presented Kyle his awful statistics.

_Turns out, the readers are not interested in befriending unknown lifeforms, Broflovski._ He remembered the most painful sentence of his one hour long defamation before reaching the end of the paper once again. The roller was pushed back with an angry click and the cycle started again.

He hated depending on readers for his income as they always chose the stories with plenty of adventures, copious amounts of cliché romance and cute otherworldly animals. Everything Kyle refused to write about. Not because he couldn’t write about them, but because he was more interested in diplomacy, and life on a foreign planet rather than destroying and colonizing everything his brain managed to make up. However, that didn’t satisfy the taste buds of anyone. Humanity always had to stand above other races or else... the story will turn into a nightmare, where the alien lifeform hunts down the innocent human scientists.

Heaving a sigh, he tiredly looked at his wristwatch.

Two in the morning. He still had two days before deadline but he wanted to have at least some spark of inspiration by morning to base his ideas around it. Articles had sung odes about hidden ideas revealing themselves once a person gets so tired they can’t think straight anymore, but so far the only sign he got was his body shivering in protest, forcefully demanding him to go to sleep already. He rubbed his eyes, and shook off the cold only to stare at his empty piece of paper.

He had to write something _great_. Exceptional! Something that will make his editor eat his words! However, he’d arrived to the point where he seriously started doubting his own way of writing. Whenever he felt an idea coming to him, a tiny voice shut it down, deeming it unoriginal and unsellable. To say it simply; too boring. His writing suddenly became unreadable and shallow and Kyle felt he built his persona around unoriginal and cliché ideas.

_Since when did I care about what the readers think?!,_ he thought to himself bitterly as he reached the end of the line again, re-rolling the same empty paper. His index-finger tapped idly on the letter T as he impatiently waited for the first sentence to magically appear in front of him. However, no matter how much he’d wished for it, it was impossible to start writing something that had no clear outlines and missed the protagonist, the central figure of the whole journey.

Originally he wanted to bring in a good-hearted yet mischievous boy; something that went against the characteristics of the famous Little Prince. Then send him on adventures, befriending other nations and…

And…!

And then the talk happened. Whatever glimpse of inspiration he had was tainted by his self-deprecating thoughts and he started telling himself this is nothing more just the carbon-copy of Craig Tucker’s “Adventures of Cadet Stripes”.

However, just before his thoughts had a chance to go on another loop, his doorbell rang, breaking the heavy atmosphere of his empty home. At first, Kyle didn’t move, thinking that it was his imagination playing tricks on him. If only…

After several minutes, the doorbell rang again.

This time whoever was on the other side of the door, pushed the button several times, as if his goal was to annoy the author even more and to make sure he notices the visitor. Gritting his teeth, Kyle quickly got up from his desk and tore the door open with an angry “What?”

He expected a homeless man, maybe a doorstep agent…  Yet in that moment, in front of him stood a young man clad in the various shades of orange, smiling brightly as if that was a normal expression in the dead of the night.

 Kyle had to blink several times to make sure it is not only his imagination, but the voice that followed confirmed his suspicions. It was a real human being.

“Good morning!” he greeted Kyle pushing a sole buttercup into the author’s hand, then he added curtly. “Take this! Token of my appreciation.”

               Driven by seemingly rational thoughts and sleep-deprivation, Kyle answered in the most logical way and kindly closed the door without a word and he would’ve probably called the police like any normal person would. However, his common sense shut down hours ago, so after waiting a minute, he switched on the outdoor lamp in front of his door and peeked out through a small crevice, silently hoping that all of this was part of some strange dream.

But the man was still waiting in front of his door, his smile never left his face, although faded a bit due to the sudden and unexpected rejection.

               “Who the hell are you?” he asked, squinting suspiciously at the newcomer. He had never seen this man and he was pretty sure they were not coworkers. He wore an orange coat that had numbers and letters at the side of his arms. The letters above his chest pocket said MK. Mark, perhaps?

“Ah, my name. I forgot to tell you, right?” his ears slowly turned red from embarrassment.

“Exactly.”

“It’s Kenny. Kenny McCormick.”

“So you are not a Mark...” by the time Kyle realized that the words left his lips, he could only shove his forehead into the edge of the door.

“No, I’m definitely not a Mark.” the blond cocked his head in confusion. “Would that change something?”

“You know, I’m not sure at this point. So, Kenny, what do you want at this ungodly hour?”

Silence. The stranger looked around, as if he was searching for something, before his gaze landed on the flower that Kyle kept twirling between his fingers.

“Well, my vacation is almost over, so a coffee with my favorite author would be enough.”

After hearing the words ‘favorite author’, Kyle couldn’t deny that his heart made a strange kind of jump in his chest, leaving his body with an alien, tingling sensation. He always thought that he’d stood above the people who would throw all of their dignity away for compliments, but this was the first time someone outright mentioned that he was their favorite author. Even at their quarterly “Readers’ Favorite” ranking, he usually fell behind other creators, landing somewhere in the mid-tier.

So it’s no wonder that Kyle naively thought, if this guy was a serial killer, he would at least die knowing that someone out there enjoyed his works. That’s how fair trade worked right? Instead of shutting the door and hiding in his bedroom, he stepped aside, nodding toward his kitchen room.

“How do you like your coffee?” he asked as he led the stranger through his shabby apartment.

“I-- think I like it sweet. But I have to admit I haven’t had the chance to try out any of the delicacies here on Earth.”

               It was one of the first warning signs, but Kyle only smiled awkwardly at the abstractness of his visitor and led him to one of the old chairs he got from his parents when they decided to renovate their house.

Everyone knew that aliens always had something unearthly about them and they hardly ever took on humanoid forms because of the differences in planets and atmospheres. All Kyle saw in Kenny was a strange, but friendly visitor and he never really questioned his intentions and the circumstances of his visit. Maybe the reason why this “Kenny” looked so normal, because most of his protagonists were humans, interacting with alien races?

Letting out a discontented sigh at the blandness his own imagination, he plopped the buttercup into a glass of water as he reached for his trusty old moka pot that’d served him well for years now. The small octagonal object gave maddeningly strong coffee that successfully kept him up all night whenever a deadline was approaching.

Thinking how there was nothing weird about inviting a man, who claimed to be an alien, for a coffee, Kyle sat down on the opposite chair, resting his elbows on the table. He curiously waited for his guest to say something, trying to jog his imagination to get his strange, but realistic dream going, however the alien only averted his gaze and stared at the cracks on the brown table. They were going nowhere.

“You told me I was your favorite author.” Kyle spoke at least, his voice coming out more like a whisper to himself.

“Ah, yeah. I did say that.”

“Nobody really told me that before!”

“They should have, though. You are a pretty neat writer!” Kenny spoke in surprise. “Neat” was probably not the best word to use in this situation, but he didn’t know this.

“More like boring and bland. Broflovski, your stories lack action and human drama! My boss would say while throwing my manuscript into the garbage. Oh yeah, wait, he did that once..”

“I’m pretty sure it was a good read! Hope you fished those papers out of the garbage and––” Kenny raised an eyebrow, but Kyle could only mumble into his hands.

“I burned them…”

               And with that Kyle decided that this topic should end there.

 He still remembered the story he proudly presented on that day then wanted it to stay hidden away as a failure for the rest of his life. Part of him was still angry about not fighting for his work and considered it more as a personal failure, than dent in his career.

No matter how much he pretended, that one time he decided to hang his head low haunted him even today reminding him of the cruel reality of science fiction business.

 

When he sensed the flow of steam getting stronger near the moka, he got up and poured coffee into small cups. Kenny got a smaller amount to give some space for milk and sugar. Something told him that the alien would oversweeten the liquid so he took some liberties with it, and added some sugar to Kenny’s coffee while pouring some milk into it. His deed was not left without a comment once he stepped back to the table.

“Wow! Mine is lighter than yours! I always thought coffee is supposed to be pitch black like tar!”

“Uhm… Because it’s sweeter. Also coffee is dark brown, not black or your drink would be grey and not light brown.” Kyle explained and he couldn’t help but smile at the over-exaggerated reaction. ”If I remember correctly you wanted it like that. If it’s not good there is still some coffee left so I can pour you a new cup. But of course--”

“There is no need to do that. Don’t worry! It’s delicious as it is!” Kenny quickly told him after his first sip, somewhat calming Kyle, who was ready to jump out of his seat.

“Oh, that’s good. So… Kenny?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you visit me at this timeless hour? Surely not because I’m your favourite writer, you could do that any time of the year actually. As you’ve noticed I’M not some hotshot living in his own mansion with an army of security guards.”

“Well, you see, I work at a station up there,” Kenny pointed toward the ceiling. “Accepted the work because it pays well, but there is really nothing to do at the station but looking at humans, taking notes, keeping an eye on their actions. Frankly, it gets boring after a month because you hardly ever do anything out of the ordinary. So to pass some time, I started reading books, among many other printed materials. And boy, you do have the collection when it comes to lewd stuff and science! I’m impressed!”

“The station… up there? Where?”

At this point, Kenny seemed to be at loss, he hesitated on continuing. As a distraction he sipped from his cup, carefully glancing toward Kyle.

“Well, the thing is, I’m not from Earth, but from a faraway planet that was colonized by your ancestors few thousand years ago.”

“And you expect me to believe this.”

“It would make explaining easier.” Kenny nodded with an uncertain smile. He really wanted Kyle to believe him, but he was not the master of words, if anything, he failed terribly at verbal communication.

In front of him Kyle furrowed his brows then sighed, his shoulders slowly loosening.

“I won’t believe you,” he stated, then continued. “Not because I can’t nor because I don’t want to, but rather, because as an author who works with science fiction and focuses mostly on space and alien civilizations, there are many douchebags who think that my profession is not literature and find every damned occasion to turn me into the butt of a joke. I’d like to keep my suspicions until I have my evidences that you are indeed an alien lifeform.”

“So despite the popularity, writing about space has a stigma.” Kenny nodded to himself. Interesting.

“Oh, you have no idea... According to some, it is not even literature but another form of children’s books written for infantile adults by infantile adults!” Kyle quickly sipped from his coffee, before he could go on an unstoppable rant.

“I think it’s still part of literature, even if your imagination is tad-bit too wild for my reality. You make me want to travel through the galaxy, despite the fact that I already live on a wacky planet that has seas of endless sand.”

“Never thought that an alien would say that my imagination is too wild for them.” Kyle chuckled lightly.

“Oh. So now I’m an alien.”

“I told you, I’m willing to believe once I have some evidence. For the time being, I’d like to pretend that you are indeed an alien to make this situation less weird and more interesting. Furthermore, you still haven’t s answered my question about the actual goal of your visit.”

Heat rose to Kenny’s face as he opened his mouth then closed it like a fish out of water.  “Well, there is a holiday on my planet so I got the week off. There is nothing special to it.”

Kyle looked at him in disbelief, his sleep deprived brain was hell-bent in doing the math. Kenny stated that a trip took him 3 days; that would add up to six for his way back. Meaning he used up his entire holiday to visit him on Earth. Part of him questioned the credibility of this story, but the idea that someone would take a trip only to meet him made Kyle feel an off kind of sensation and an even weirder sense of proudness.

“And you used this free-time to visit Earth,” he tried to sound neutral, mentioning Earth instead of himself, but the visitor was also keen and immediately added:

“And to visit you. Reading your stories was not only refreshing but as I said, I had some serious fun with them when I realized it’s not about taming the wilderness. You know, I’ve actually waited a year to meet you in person!” he exclaimed. “I mean, I wanted to come sooner but I miscalculated the extra hours so the trip here took me longer and I’m afraid, I have to leave immediately once we finish this coffee to make my trip back home. I also miscalculated the orbital position of the station, you see.”

_That’s sad_ , Kyle thought to himself, but couldn’t say a word. Part of him wished this dream would last longer.

               Once he got the news and the deadline, he did what he usually does when he gets frustrated and closed off all communications even with his closest friends. Meaning that Stan ended up with a bleeding nose once his face met with Kyle’s front door and David was forcefully kicked out of Kyle’s living room when he casually took a seat on his couch. Even phone-calls were not welcomed once Kyle went into this frenzied work-a-holic state. He would either refuse to answer the calls or just shake his friends off by making excuses about deadlines and important ideas.

               Now wonder that the fact that Kenny could not only get into his house, but even got to the point of drinking coffee with him surprised even Kyle himself. Was this some kind of alien magic? Brain control? But as he looked at the man who kept stirring the coffee in front of him, none of those theories made sense.

 

               Kenny had an atmosphere around him. A really strange and calming atmosphere, which managed to calm down even his nerves. He wanted to solve the riddle that was brought by this person, starting from Kenny’s mismatched eyes to the half pair of gloves that he only wore on his left hand. Maybe he had an accident that damaged his left side? Maybe there was a war and he was actually a soldier? A mercenary? Kyle wanted to inquire further, but he stopped himself in the end.

Most importantly, how did Kenny even get his hand on copies of _Absolutum…_?

 

Suddenly the metallic clatter of the spoon dragged him back to reality. As he glanced down, the redhead had to realize that he got so lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts, that he ran out of time. He couldn’t ask any of his upcoming questions. Not about the looks of visitor nor about the circumstances of his writing reaching a faraway space station. “I think my time is up. Can I get some paper and a pen?” the blond asked.

               Kyle only nodded in surprise, taking a crumbled scrap of paper from his pocket. His pens were lying all around the house in case idea struck him, so it was not hard to just roll one in front of Kenny from the kitchen batch. The old pen made a pitiful scratching noise as Kenny basically engraved two lines of numbers onto the paper.

“This is the communication number of the station.” he averted his gaze. “If you ever want to call me, that’s it. I’ll see myself to the door.”

“Wait, I’ll go with you!” Kyle told him, jumping out of his seat.

“Well, then I might never leave, and my boss would end me!” Kenny laughed in embarrassment as he stormed out of the kitchen.

              

               However Kyle quickly got out of his shock at the sudden change of atmosphere and followed closely in his wake, pursuing the fake-alien to his garden and he was ready to tackle him to the ground, but in mid-jump just as the blond turned back toward him with an expression of clear surprise on his face, his body disappeared into thin air, causing Kyle to fall on the overgrown grass.

Tiredly, the author rolled over to his back and let the morning dew slowly soak through his clothes.

The stars were already hidden in the pinkish glow of the morning sky leaving only the planets behind and the knowledge was something was hovering above them, way above their atmosphere made Kyle feel a strange kind of excitement.

Also, he was indescribably angry at the hit and run attempt. You can’t just invite yourself for a coffee then run back home! If that alien ever comes back, he will definitely get what he deserves, or at least he will have to invite Kyle out for a coffee or maybe for lunch.

               Thinking about how impossible that scenario would be, he finally scratched himself together and walked back to his house to take a shower.

 

Maybe, just maybe, soon he will get a glimpse of inspiration.

 


	2. Dreams

Kyle stirred from his sleep to the soft patter of rain that hit his windowsill outside, raindrops trickling down the glass, leaving a dashed trail after themselves. He closed his eyes, listening to their lulling rhythm and he was ready to fall back asleep, when the cruel realization about the upcoming deadline hit him with the power of the speeding train.

He had no time to waste to waste!

Mind still muddle-headed from his lack of sleep, Kyle was about to jump out of his bed only to make him topple down to his carpet with a pitiful thud once his legs hit the edge of the coffee-table. Furthermore, his muscles cried murder with every movement, sending a wave of pain through his entire body. Kyle couldn’t help, but curse loudly, staring at the yellowed ceiling of his living room.

He forgot that last night he just flopped onto his armchair, legs dangling from one the side of the tattered furniture. His shoulders and spine all sitting in an unnatural position, as he rested his head on the other side. No wonder that now his own body wanted to murder him for that mistake.

Stumbling to his feet, Kyle’s brain worked hard to connect the dots between his awkward sleeping position and the events of previous night. He remembered working, checking his clock, then someone visited him in the middle of the night… Or was that part a dream? Probably yes.

Massaging his aching back, he slowly trudged out to his kitchen in order to pour some much needed caffeine into his body. However, as his feet hit the cold floor tiles of the kitchen, he was greeted by a sole buttercup, waiting in a glass of water. On the two sides of his table, two cups sat close to each other, next to them spoons left small stains of coffee on the white surface.

“I forgot to take out the saucers…” Kyle murmured to himself and he was about to put everything in the sink, when he realized reality’s awkward similarities with his kitchen and the scenery he was part of in that strange dream. His heart raced as he stepped closed to the table and saw the lines of numbers the name _Kenny_ scribbled on a piece of paper scrap.

So every evidence gave him the same message: His alien visitor was indeed real. Kenneth McCormick truly visited him several hours ago.

Suddenly a smile crept to his face and as he was ready to commit one of the worst ideas of that day. Without moving anything in his kitchen, Kyle walked up to the old orange telephone, pulling the circular plate to a number, then letting it fall back to its original position, repeating the same motions with different numbers until he heard a low hum on the other side of the line. After several seconds a groggy voice answered his call.

“What now?” the owner of the voice groaned. He didn’t even have to ask who was the madman, who decided to wake him up with the first rays of the sun. “Kyle. Dude. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Yes, Stan. Thanks to you I have several clocks, there is even one in my bathroom. But hear me out, this is big!”

“You are not hurt, are you?” there was a sudden tonal shift in his voice.

“No, don’t worry. I fell off the armchair but that’s all.” Kyle explained, gesturing with his hand even if Stan could not see him.

“You did what?!”

“I fell of the armchair. But that’s not all!” Kyle’s voice grew more excited while he was pretty sure Stan’s worry exponentially worsened with each sentence. “I think I was visited by an alien! Can you believe it, Stan!?”

 

            However, Stan could not believe it, if anything he was pretty sure Kyle was losing it and the stress over his upcoming deadline finally caught up with him. Pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh, he frowned at the redhead, who excitedly rambled about his close encounter with the third kind.

“Kyle, stop. I get it. You have seen something. Just give me an hour and I’ll be on my way, until then, don’t let anyone in.”

“Stan, I was not robbed!”

_Or so you think,_ he wanted to argue, but it was six in the morning and Kyle would probably defeat him in the battle of wits.

“See you in an hour, Kyle,” with this he ended the conversation. Stretching his muscles he walked back to his bedroom, carefully tiptoeing around the bed to get his clothes. However, his thoughtful acts were all for nothing because the next moment his girlfriend, Wendy raised her head, her black hair ungracefully tangled together in unrealistic ways.

“There is food in the fridge. I’m pretty sure he barely ate anything since yesterday.”

“Thanks, Wends” he said, but by the time he walked to her side to breathe a soft kiss into her messy locks, Wendy was back in dreamland.

He stepped out to their street holding an umbrella in his left hand and a bag of boxed food in the other. The streets were still empty, the town was asleep. Only those who had stores to open were dragging themselves on the street or waited for a bus to take them to downtown. Occasionally a car drove past him and part of Stan cursed the fact that he refused to drive to Kyle’s place, because he lived so close to them.

Environmental friendliness started with small steps, he reminded himself as he stepped into a deeper puddle.

 

His friend’s house was hard to miss, as it was one of the smallest in the area, clustered between two two-story buildings. From one side, a pear tree, left behind by Kyle’s late grandfather, protected the entrance from unwanted attention of his neighbors.

Stan opened the door and almost immediately he’d heard Kyle actively rambling to someone in his living room. He carefully stepped over discarded, muddy shoes and his eyes immediately met with David’s who was sitting on the couch, nodding with an unperturbed expression on his face, while holding a mug full of tea in his hands while Kyle walked round around him.

His eyes invited Stan _‘Come join me in hell’_ as he tried to fight off a yawn.

“Good morning to you too.” He nodded toward David. “So what’s this whole thing is about, Kyle? I hope you did not make us come over at dawn only to talk about your newest idea...” Stan entered the room and Kyle immediately stopped in his tracks. The dark bags were clearly visible under his eyes. His hair probably didn’t see a comb yet, because unlike his usual curls, it looked more like a birdnest, giving Kyle the look of a mad scientist. He expected Kyle to continue his ramblings, but the author fell silent, his shoulders relaxed as he closed his eyes, only to present the silliest thing Stan’d ever heard of.

“So the thing is, last night I was visited by someone out of this world.”

“Oh, that’s great? I think…?” he said, confusion visible on his face. So Kyle only wanted to ramble about a successful date, but he associated its success with outer space? That was awesome in a way. Everyone kept telling him that he should go out more often, because his basic interactions were limited to four people and Eric Cartman.

Oh, how naive he was.

“You better sit down,” David warned him quietly. “This is going to be a bumpy ride.”

“I can’t wait…” he sat down next to him on the couch, then slightly leant toward David, whispering so Kyle would not hear them. “He is not about to announce that he finally has a boyfriend, is he?

“Well you are both right and wrong. I think he found someone so handsome that now he believes he must’ve seen an alien,” David whispered back.

“Would you two quit this?” they heard Kyle roaring above them. He stopped walking around in circles and now he stood in front of them with folded arms, listening in on their hushed conversation. “I know what I saw!”

“Look, Kyle. I know that you are lonely and embarrassed that you have finally found someone you like, but you don’t have to turn them into another character from your stories to make us root for you.” David explained, taking a sip from his tea.

“I keep talking, but it feels like none of you are listening to me,” Kyle sighed, slight irritation hiding under his defeated tone.

At this point he was sure, even if he’d seen Cthulhu himself, his friends would just sweep his experiences under the rug, claiming that he just needs more sleep because these actions were the basics of human logic. If you’ve seen something out of the ordinary or straight up impossible, then their mind would build up a theory to explain the phenomenon. Unless three or more people were involved. In that case, the outsiders would try to find a common origin point with psychedelic mushrooms or drugs.

It became apparent, that Kyle couldn’t openly talk about his visitor and yet he tried to do it one more time.

“Look, David, Stan, you know that I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Stan was about to open his mouth, but Kyle hushed him. “No, I would not lie about something that involves me and this includes tonight.”

“Okay, Kyle, then tell us, how did this person look like?” David urged him. “Because so far I have the image of a tentacle monster with six hearts, two mouths and thousands of boggling eyes.”

“He was human. Or at least human looking,” he started walking around. “Blue eyes that makes you feel you want to get lost in them. One of his eyes, had a really soft violet tint, but I couldn’t see it well. Then, his hair was blonde, more on the dirty blonde side though, definitely not clear and with a metallic light like Pip’s. He… He… He looked like the Little Prince.”

With this he dashed to his bookshelf, which held many classics and books that he classified as science fiction, despite the fact that many of them had nothing to do with science. Among them, was the thin book, written by a French pilot. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry was one of his most treasured pieces; something he got as a present from Stan and Wendy after he graduated and later became the foundation of his journal as a writer.

The book was the very first English edition from 1943. Its dust-cover had slight tears around the edges and the cover itself got waved over the years, but the book itself still remained in great condition. Kyle held it in front of his friends, pointing at the kid on the cover.

“He looked like the Prince,” the author repeated with utmost seriousness, earning curious glances from his friends.

Stan sat in silence, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to make sense of the chaos Kyle stirred up around himself. It sounded absurd, almost impossible and while it hurt him to do this, he had to debunk Kyle’s theory in order to make him see reason.

“Let me get this straight, you have met someone who looks like the Prince, he was here in this very room, fit your sex appeal almost perfectly and now he is nowhere.”

“He is on his spaceship…” Kyle stated with less confidence.

“Kyle I’m pretty sure it was a dream. Aliens don’t just visit the Earth willy-nilly. If they did, they would test their probes on us and do all kind of wacky experiments. Haven’t you seen that movie… Alien? You know, the 8th Passenger. If anything that’s a neat example on why communicating with them would be dangerous.”

            Kyle opened his mouth to say something, but instead he just frowned and put the book back to its place with a defeated sigh. It’s not like he could convince them to believe in something only he’d seen, though it would’ve been infinitely better if he could tell about his happiness and experiences without becoming a total weirdo in the eyes of his friends. His meeting with Kenny would be forever dismissed as a dream or a hallucination he suffered through after getting caffeine poisoning.

            However, the two servings of coffee, the buttercup and the phone-number reminded him that his mind was not playing tricks on him and there was more to this story than what his friends are capable of digesting.

“I think I’ll make coffee. Do you want some?” he turned toward Stan, who was probably dragged out of bed by his call.

“Yeah. Some caffeine would be great.”

 

            In the kitchen Kyle was greeted by the flower, once again reminding him of his curious meeting. His hand was about to collect the emptied cups, but decided against it, as if moving anything would ruin the perfect and warm memory. Sighing to himself, he emptied the filter of his mocha, shoveling another portion of ground coffee-beans into the tray into it was filled to the brim. He even pushed it down to make a thicker layer that would result in stronger coffee.

As he waited for the water to boil, he heaved a deep sigh. Stan and David were probably talking about his mental state, questioning his sanity. As if it was not embarrassing enough that his friends kept checking up on him almost every day, asking questions only his mother would.

Have you eaten anything? Drank enough water? Coffee is not enough! Think of your heart!  

The visits slowly turned into interrogations about his unhealthy lifestyle, causing Kyle to be even more unsociable.

Steam rose from the metallic mocha, as Kyle turned the gas off and took two smaller mugs out of his cupboard. For some reason he’d felt that making coffee for Stan was nearly not as special as doing the same for an alien. A plain beige mug will suffice, he thought to himself, once he added double amount of milk to the black liquid. He peeked out the window, hoping to see his visitor waving at him from the garden, until he realized that if Kenny told the truth, then he would be on his way toward the station. There was little to zero chances to meet him in the upcoming two weeks.

If he could only travel through space.

Kyle thought about how boring it might be to be up in the sky all alone, reading stories written by a third-rate author who had nothing to do with alien civilizations. They were both humans, but their worlds were far too different.

As he watched the raindrops roll down the window, he thought about Kenny’s reactions to coffee. The way his eyes lit up when Kyle pulled out the decade old coffee machine and used his average skills to cause positive first impressions. The pure amazement in his voice as he tasted the most basic human beverage.

They were different. That was true, but maybe Kyle could use this difference to write something extraordinary without having to deviate too much from his usual way of writing. No, for this he needed to stay on that road, and walk an extra mile. Keep what Kenny loved about his works, but improve them with something that he probably never had a chance to experience. A smile crept to his lips as he waltzed back to the living room, almost spilling coffee on the floor.

“I know what I want to write about!” he announced, pushing his mug in the air. Both Stan and David duck away from him with a shock, thinking that he had finally went mad and the previous tale with the alien was just calm before storm.

The author probably expected them to applaud his breakthrough. What he did not expect was Stan smiling at him, taking the mugs out of his hands.

“Let’s talk about it once you have more sleep in your system,” he suggested, but Kyle remained adamant. The shadow of the deadline was still looming above his head, like the sharpest of guillotines.

He had no time to waste, not today. But he also knew that Stan will drag him to bed, and that David will be more than happy to help him. Letting out a defeated sigh, he decided to ask for a compromise.

“Just let me sketch up the idea first.”

 

What he had not told them, that this so called sketch-up will require a day.   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you... I had fun writing this chapter, while I also respected David and Stan for their patience. I tried to go for a lighter AU this time, especially because I keep making them suffer everywhere else.


	3. Isn't this like Treasure Island?

 

Even after getting the first spark of an idea, starting his short story was harder than Kyle had previously thought. 

His muse was at work, relentlessly throwing ideas at him, however the problem lay with the fact that he had no idea what to do with them yet. No matter how much he focused on the story, the fragments he scraped together had refused to form a full picture in his brain. Furthermore, the more he collected, the more frustrated he got when he was unable to use them properly. Eventually the pile fell and some of the ideas were lost.

Closing his eyes, he held back his breath, urging himself to think of a a basic story structure that he could follow. 

Space was the main setting for these adventures, sure, but he needed something that would leave Kenny in awe. Something that was so primitive and simple that advanced technology pushed it into oblivion hundreds of years ago.

As he paced around his living room, Stan and David were still watching him warily, probably waiting for the perfect moment to send him back to bed, or force him to take a break… As if that was possible!

          _I have a story to write!_

“What is the big idea, anyway?” Stan looked up at him, meeting Kyle’s frown.

“I want to tell a story…” Kyle mumbled under his nose, as he walked behind the couch, then back to his friends. “Something that is so ground to earth that even an alien might raise his brows at it and say wow! I was thinking about pirates, but I’m pretty sure... That uh… Piracy would be a ludicrous business everywhere and there would be nothing special about spaceships. Especially not after Star Wars! Everyone and their grandma is creating spaceships!”

“Well, why use spaceships then?” asked David.

“Because it’s science-fiction, it needs them! Even Asimov…”

“That’s Asimov’s fiction. Similarly, you can’t write like Lew, Capek or Bradbury, it would be like buying a coat that’s too big for you and doesn’t even fit the rest of your garments.”

            And that’s when Kyle realized, David had a point.

            Writing was a strange game, constantly influenced by outsiders, authors picking up on the things that worked for other, more popular authors, gradually improving them, changing them to fit their own needs in story-telling. Nobody was free from the game of influence and even when they thought they did, critics would make sure to create connections and explain their creative choices through the lens of other authors. When Kyle thought of space pirates, his thoughts almost immediately wandered to the space ranger novels that Asimov wrote under the pen name of Paul French and it was foolish to assume that Asimov was the only one using that trope.

            Meaning, Kyle couldn’t just drop spaceships into the picture, label them as pirates and expect a Nebula Award for it without changing anything. 

            And that was it, he needed to change something and do the unexpected.  

            Then he stopped in his tracks, staring at his bookshelf as if the answer was coming right from the pages of scientific researches and unused law textbooks.

            He did not need to revolutionise science fiction. Probably whatever he would come up with, Kenny’d already seen and experiences a thousand times. No, Kyle had to keep everything simple… human. He had to do what even old Greek philosophers told him to avoid... paint the dolphin in the woods, the boar in the sea!

“A schooner!” he exclaimed, causing David and Stan to jump in surprise.

“A schooner?” Stan parroted, taking a sip from how cold coffee.

“A pirate needs a ship, but spaceships and rockets are everywhere. A small sailing ship like a schooner is not only elegant, but you can imagine the view around it! Stan, listen, this is going to be it!”

            Smiling slightly David urged Kyle to think further.

“How would a ship operate in space if the crew cannot come in contact with zero gravity and temperature drops?”

“Artificial atmosphere! Also the ship could use solar cells on its sails!”

 

            He was getting somewhere, after an almost sleepless night and countless hours of stress, Kyle finally got the idea he was waiting for and funniest thing of all, his muse was none other than a person who briefly complimented on his works, before teleporting away.

            However, there was one thing that kept nagging at his mind.

            Pirates were known to be evil and bad, serving as enemies of the protagonist, but they were hardly good enough to be the protagonists of their own stories. Furthermore, there was a pull in his heart that told him, Kenny would never really attack and pillage towns and ships. He wanted to reflect pure hearted intentions in his books. So Kyle had to take away the grit and oil that authors loved so much and replace it with his own version.

            And the fact that he just couldn’t slap Kenny’s name over his fiction. It would be too obvious and cringe-worthy. But he didn’t want to leave the name completely… Nynek sounds like an impish character from that Finnish children’s book. Everything else would cause a consonant congestion, unless he inserts a vowel, but then again, that would ruin the purity of the name. Enkin would not do either as the name would fit an elven person more than a space pirate. No matter how much he tried to twist the letters, Kenny’s name seemed to be universal, unchangeable.

            Shuffling letters could only get him this far.

            Murmuring to himself, he walked up to his bookshelf and took out a thick encyclopaedia, _The Complete Book of Names_. He bought it at a second hand bookshop several years ago, back when he first started thinking about writing stories and he needed to think out of the box in order to avoid calling everyone Michael and James.

            Until now, the book was left to collect dust, as he preferred to use knowledge that he’d already gained, but the fact that Kenny’s name prevailed any kind of change, pushed him toward extreme solutions. He dropped the thousand pages long book on his coffee table and started reading through the names starting with letter K. The moment he’d found the name Kenneth, he started reading the small translation and its origins.

  _Cináed_  , however…

He loved the way this name rolled off his tongue. The simple, yet foreign sound that kept its faint resemblance to the original, but it was different enough that everyday people would not make a connection. Alien enough to trick the public.

If his work ever reaches the eyes of the public, that is.

            He quickly scribbled down his ideas into a red notebook, fearing that something might escape him as his thoughts raced past each other, coming up with wilder and wilder scenarios. Just as he was about to waltz back to his typewriter someone grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled the distressed author away from the key of his success.

“Don’t even think about it.” David warned him. “You can’t just ignore us after you called us over at dawn! You have guests, Kyle!”

“Well, then I don’t have guests anymore. You can go home, I have writing to do,” Kyle told them calmly as he tried to pry himself out of David’s grip.

“You should’ve thought about this the moment you called us over.”

“Should have. But I didn’t. Such is the way of my muse,” Kyle stated without an inkling of regret. His friends already provided him what he needed to start playing with his new and shiny toy.

However, he was foolish enough to believe that David and Stan would let him just go back to work, finish what he urgently needed to present in less than few days. He heard mugs clatter and suddenly someone grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back toward the couch.

“You owe us a breakfast.”

“Hey, I gave you coffee and tea.”

“Yes. And you still owe us a breakfast,” David repeated.

            Letting out a dramatic sigh, Kyle shook David’s hand off his shoulder. He truly can’t get rid of them without feeding them first. What are they? Cats?

“Just let me get my wallet first.”

            He truly didn’t need any extra expenses right now, but then again, he did this to himself and had his own stupidity to blame.

 

\- - -

 

Sunnyside Café was a small restaurant several streets away from them, inviting their guests with tables that had paint chipping off from them and if the chairs had no cushions, they would probably spend the day, trying to brush off dry paint from their pants.

            Upon entering, the smell of age and wood hit them first, then came the familiar inviting smell of breakfast topped with the bitter scent of coffee.

Kyle closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he mentally prepared himself for losing that little extra allowance he managed to scrap together by writing articles and short book reviews for their local newspaper and Absolutum. Letting out a sigh he scanned the small, but practical menu for something that will keep him alive for the day. Thankfully it seemed that both David and Stan gave up on sending him to bed at 9am, so he successfully dodged that obstacle, now he only had to play along in order to get them off his tail.

 After taking out a small notebook, he started writing up possible goals for his Kenny-clone, dropping in names for a crew or group of friends, while various plot twists emerged in his non-existing story.

Seeing his excited scribbling a Stan asked an obvious question from him.

“What’s the story is about?”

            This made Kyle look up from his notes. His stare was determined, as if he had the answer right at the tip of his tongue, however the longer he looked at Stan, the more his ideas escaped him.

“It’s about… uh…”

“Pirates and your fictional boyfriend, sure,” Stan helped him, earning a kick for his statement. “Okay. Boyfriend aside... writing about pirates seems to be out of character for you. You like boring stories like politics and diplomacy.”

            Kyle gave him an unamused glare at the last comment.

            Yet, Stan was right. This story was out of his comfort zone and while the characters were already set, the story itself lacked anything that could hold Kyle’s attention for longer than one or two chapters. And there was nothing more disappointing than staring at his own work in disbelief, topped with complete writer’s block.

            A mere story about the adventures of a pirate would bore him to death. And if the author himself is bored, then the audience would die out of boredom. Munching on his sandwich, he started thinking about the possibilities with pirates.

“Well, what if... “He stopped for a second to swallow the bite. “He used to be a pirate searching for adventures, however due to some shenanigans, he ended up serving the head of a planet. A small one. There are no other countries there.”

“Oh, you are onto something,” said David in an amused tone. “Like a modern day Peter Pan who stole Hook’s ship?”

“Kind of. After years of adventuring, playing Robin Hood, he is forced to travel to various planets and help them.”

“Doesn’t he needs an enemy, then? A Long John Silver?”

            True, David had a point. He needed some kind of enemy or …did he…? Did all of humanity’s problem came from the same evil being? People loved to think that this was the case, but what if even their actions were controlled by someone else. What then?

“The Queen’s sister was banished to a lonely planet, but had a way to control constellations and turn them into magical creatures. Look, the sister is a petty person, so she asked the creatures to just… do bad stuff. Oh, and all constellations have different powers.” Kyle went on and on, detailing them how every constellation was a shapeshifter bringing chaos to an entire galaxy. Stan could feel himself getting more and more confused as words flow out of Kyle’s mouth, having to stop him from continue in order to collect himself.

“So even the Pegasus constellation is bad in this story?” He asked and rejoiced when Kyle stopped and looked at him.

“That is a possibility.” and sipped from his coffee. The second one that morning. “We will see when I start writing it. First I’d like to put down a smaller chapter to woo my boss.”

“Ew, gross.” David grimaced. “I thought you wanted to bone the alien guy.”

“I did not want to bone anyone!” his words came out a bit too loud because the next moment the blond man behind the counter gave him a weird look as he poured water into a coffee syphon. Face reddening, Kyle slid down his chair, hoping that the floor would open under him. Why did he even need enemies when he was surrounded by friends like David and Stan?

            At least he got some ideas to begin with. Thanks to them the fog cleared from the road in front of him and he finally saw a way out of his hopelessness. And all of this happened, because some idiot alien decided to throw a writer appreciation day in the middle of the night.

            What a day.

\- - -

            Kicking Stan and David out of his house suddenly got easier once they were fed and their caffeine levels got regulated and he made several promises about keeping small pauses, standing up from his typewriter and occasionally walking around the house so his legs would not forget how to move.

            And Kyle followed their instructions… for a while at least.

            However, the deeper he went into the origin story of Cináed, the more he got lost in his own imagination. Suddenly he saw a short blond boy who grew up on a planet where fossil fuels worth more than human lives. He was covered in oil and dirt from working all day. One of his arm was missing and instead he used a prosthetic limb that his best friend, a mechanic apprentice put together from junk.

As the story went on, Kyle realized that the story Kenny inspired had more room for his critique and subtle jabs at society than any of his previous works. The patter of rain on his windowsill matched the rhythm of his fingers that pushed down letter after letter on his old typewriter. People got freed, society was judged and his favourite pirate went on an adventure, wooing everyone and anyone who seemed to be susceptible for his flirty nature.

A hopeless romance.

A planet that he can never visit.

An empty space that will remain in his heart while he is exploring the galaxy.

Words poured out from him and Kyle did nothing to stop them.

 

“If this won’t get me at least several months then I might as well give up writing,” he sighed, frowning as he flipped through the manuscript, numbering the corner of the pages with light pencil strokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is how a story about an impossible romance slowly turned into a story about the hardships of writing. Fear not, Kenny will make his appearance soon enough, although his schedule is still not really kind on him so he has to use all of his earthly connections to get back to Kyle. >:3
> 
> "Paint the dolphin in the woods, the boar in the sea" is a reference to the The Art of Poetry: An Epistle to the Pisos (Ars Poetica for short) written by Horatius Flaccus.
> 
> Funny thing is, the solar cells on the ship started out as an Alien reference, until I realized that only the USCSS Covenant (2017) used those solar panels in the latest movie and I've yet to read the books to confirm that the Nostromo (1979) uses solar cells to the chronology would be off.


	4. There are two sides of every person

After many rephrasing, editing and rewriting Kyle finally left the work of his life on the desk of the publishing director and almost immediately made his escape towards the staircase and plopping down on the stairs, stretching his legs over several steps to the point, he could slid down to the first floor if he needs to. A childish act, but hardly illogical from someone who solely ran on caffeine for the past few days.

In the end writing about his pirate protagonist deemed to be far too inspiring, causing him to take his typewriter away from its usual, secluded place on his study table and the poor machine visited his garden, a coffee-shop, a bank and even his bed. It was a strange kind of addiction that didn’t seem to go away even when his fingertips started protesting against his tyrannical actions.

Even now, as he closed his eyes, Kyle could still see the vivid images of the endless galaxy with its countless number of stars and colourful asteroid clouds. The way Cid tricked his way out of death sentence by offering his services to the queen of a planet that was covered by million years old forests and crystal water coursed among the roots of trees.

It had a bit of environmental message and plenty of witty conversations, something that made the sentences flow under his fingers and inspired him to explore this universe even further. He still had no idea how to save the first planet, the origin point of the whole adventure, but slowly the course of a journey started forming in his mind. Bit by bit, adding something new to the mix.

A new character, a new planet, a new animal, convenient, but unaffordable technology.

And now all of his efforts came down to this. The final judgement made by an editor who probably wants him out of the picture as soon as it is humanly possible, in order to give way to a fledgling talent. Kyle tiredly closed his eyes again and slid down the stairs a bit, letting his head gently hit the ground as the exhaustion finally caught up with him.

 

He had no idea how long he had slept when the hard nose of a shoe started poking at his side, dragging him back from dreamland to the cold harsh reality of the publisher’s building. Looking up he’d met with the face of Clyde Donovan, the person responsible for the articles about dumb technological advances like the calcupen, recordable paper.

_Oh, and he was also responsible for kids cutting up the furcoats of their parents to make tribbles,_ Kyle noted to himself as he asked a tired “What now?” refusing to move an inch from his current spot.

“You should get a better place to sleep,” he snickered as he poked Kyle once more. “People will think you are some random hobo, Broflovski.”

“Sure. Let them think that.” Kyle shrugged as he forcefully punched Clyde’s shin when the tip of his shoe got too close to his side. “But kick me one more time, and I guarantee to turn you into the next victim of an Agatha Christie novel!”

            Any normal person would’ve left Kyle alone, however instead of going on his way Clyde found new ways to annoy the hell out of the redhead by crouching next to Kyle, poking him in the side with his index finger, then quickly backing away toward the wall.

“Get a life!” Kyle groaned at him, jumping to his feet to lunge at the enemy right in front of him, only to get stopped by a simple sentence.

“Boss is looking for you so you better be moving that ass of yours.”

            Kyle stopped in his tracks as his body tensed up at the sudden declaration. Without saying a word he rushed away, slamming the door after himself and Clyde could swear the wall shook in his wake. However, upon delivering the message he only shrugged and went back to write that article about that triple deck boombox that will hit the market next week.

 

On the other hand, Kyle was about to jump out the nearest window as he walked towards the light brown lacquered door. His legs shook beneath his weight as his brain went through the possible outcomes of this meeting. Just as he imagined being fired on the spot, having to walk through the crowd made by his co-workers he felt a tug in his heart as a strange feeling emerged from the sea of panic.

He simply couldn’t worry anymore.

If he gets fired? Then what? He did his best, worked tirelessly to write something special. If the director won’t agree with him, then he will just find a different magazine or skips the entire process of establishing a name, and becomes a published author by going straight to bigger companies.

His thoughts even surprised him, but ultimately they calmed him down to the point where he could finally face the man residing behind the closed door.

\- - -

Compared to the modern outer space and recently installed desks, the office of Richard Adler was the complete opposite of the world outside his door. The walls were covered by old carved mahogany shelves, all filled with old books that probably only served as display purpose. On the lower shelves he collected the past issues of _Absolutum_ and books that were previously released under their care. Even Tucker’s colourful children’s story was there.

Adler waited for him with a rather serious expression, folding his fingers above the finished manuscript like a teacher who just encountered the worst essay of his life. And Kyle was ready to explain his writing, just like a kid who desperately tries to pass his exam with a D-.

“Why. Why is that I need to threaten you to get something like _this_?” he patted the pile of papers in front of him with the back of his hand. His face reflected absolute displeasure.

“Sir, that’s…”

“Don’t even start. I’m not interested in your empty excuses.”

“Mr. Adler I swear that the next one will be better, if you would give me another chance.”

“There are no more chances, Broflovski,” came the firm answer from his boss.

“B-But--”

“While the idea is promising, but it’s nothing big yet. Definitely not something that would earn publication rights.” Adler stopped, carefully studying Kyle’s expression, almost as if he was waiting for the moment when the last remaining ray of hope leaves his face. “However, it’s far better than anything you’ve put out since you applied with your short story. After several rethinkings I decided that it’s better to leave this to the readers... So I have a deal for you. I’m willing to let you continue working here as long as you promise to focus on this story alone.”

“But…?” Kyle asked in an almost challenging tone. There had to be some kind of trick with this deal.

“But nothing is definite yet. You do realize that this is nothing but the work of a fledgling author. And you might’ve also realized that this is not a charity service and I’m not Mother Theresa. Fail once more, and you are out of this building.”

Holding his breath, Kyle could feel the world slowly going cold around him as he opened his mouth.

“And do I get some kind of deadline?”

“The September author survey.” Adler said without a hint of emotion as he held the pages toward Kyle, who reluctantly accepted them. ” By that time we will see if your work is capable of making any kind of impact.”

“Thank you, Mr. Adler.” Kyle carefully took a step back, then another, his eyes never leaving the plump little man. The farther he got the more he reminded Kyle of a bulldog, judging him from the distance for being an amateur.

“Oh and something else. While I don’t want to take away your artistic freedom Cináed might be too complex name for a protagonist. Do something about it. Consult with the editor or whatever. Once you’re done make sure to check in with me once more and then you are free to take the short story to print.”

“Yes, Mr. Adler.”

He nodded vehemently as he quickly slipped out the room, and closed the door behind him.

Outside Kyle let his back rest against the wall, head hitting the picture frame containing the very first cover painting for their magazine; an astronaut leaving his spaceship to explore a world of thorns.

His heart was still beating in his ears, refusing to calm down after the life and death situation that went down in Adler’s office. He was sentences away from getting fired and having his dream ruined and yet the only thing Adler disliked was the protagonist’s name.

Probably the most important thing that connected him to Kenny in this situation.

He couldn’t decide if he should be angry or sad about the recommended changes.

Kenny was a big part of this story, so changing the name meant that Adler took away a vital point. However, changing the name also meant that his story could reach people and its main recipient. Just like in alchemy, the pros and cons balanced each other out in the end.

And yet, even as he walked toward Jimmy’s office, the demand kept irking him, taking small bites from his pride. He might as well invent a completely new character if Adler is not satisfied with the name!

Surprisingly, the brilliant idea to trick his own boss, came from the most impossible source.

 

“Why not s-s-shorten t-the name?” Jimmy looked at him questioningly once Kyle finished his lengthy rant about the deal and his deadline being extended. The editor didn’t miss a beat and started writing up possible ways to alter Kenny’s incognito. Adler hardly ever did any helpful work around the office, just told them what they had to do and usually sent them to Jimmy’s way to do the damage control on the poor soul’s ego. In the end, he was something akin to the good cop, to Adler’s condescending bad cop.

After ten minutes or so, presented Kyle with a list containing names connected to Cináed.

“Cinna is not good. And no. Kenneth is out of question and I’ll definitely not name him Kenny!” he argued immediately, but Jimmy just gave him a wry smile as he crossed out the names.

“Y-y-y-you know that naming a ch-cha-aracter after someone you l-l-l-like is b-b-bad luck?”

“Don’t even think about that. I don’t have a crush on anyone!” he flushed in shame.

“And d-d-did you kn-know that when you are embarrassed the first part that goes red is your ears? Then your ne-neck. And f-face. T-hat proves s-s-something.”

“Jimmy, stop! I understand what you are getting at, but this is not the case!”

“Now your f-f-ace is all red too:” Jimmy noted matter-of-factly, but the smile never left his face.

“Cid, I choose the name, Cid!” Kyle told him almost shouting the name. “And I do not have a crush on any Kenny!”

“If you s-s-say so.”  Jimmy shrugged, circling the name on his paper.

“Yeah, I say so. And I still have some book-reviews to submit, so I’ll be on my way,” he bailed faster than ever, escaping the rising temperatures of Jimmy’s office.

\- - -

Truth to be told, he did not write any of his book-reviews yet. Mostly because Adler’s ultimatum and deadline weighed so heavily on him, that he completely forgot any type of creative writing he had to accomplish over the week, even if the rest of the publications his name appeared in were on a completely different schedule. Furthermore, _Absolutum_ , being the only one that could act as a stepping stone for new authors, enjoyed priority over all of them. If the reviews were for them, then he might have already finished the work.

Arriving back home, he hastily took his review copies off his night table and decided to camp in his living room, scribbling down his opinions as he chewed his way through a Sheckley short story and by the time he got to the ending, Kyle already had a short draft in front of him, arrows pointing towards the important highlights that he wanted to mention in the review. He even dared to say that the story about the linguist going mad was similar to his own experiences when he tried to explain the existence of humans who lived away from Earth.

However, the next story made him lose it and the dumb smile that crept to his face would have been photo-worthy if any of his friends were around. An alien that wanted to write about humans, but nobody could believe that such impossible creatures can exist and survive, so he was called a fool by the aliens around him.

How ironic. Life truly imitates art.

Leaning back in his couch, Kyle couldn’t help but let a proud feeling get hold of him as he thought about how these stories could get into printing. While Adler did not explicitly state that his story was good in any way, he approved of its publication. A promising idea… Coming from that man, this was almost a compliment.

Before his thoughts could start wandering about, Kyle quickly ushered himself back into reality and reached for another Robert Sheckley collection that has been sitting untouched for more than a week now.

First come the reviews, then he can start thinking about making a name for himself, so one day, people will have to read his works for articles.

\- - -

Following the idea of Cid, who still retained his original name just “chose” to introduce himself in the shorter variant, was easier than he thought. Everything the young pirate did made perfect sense, his actions, his words even his decisions despite the fact that Kyle kept arguing with most of them. Because while Cináed was logical, his logic worked with his own personality and more than often it clashed with Kyle would see fit in that situation. It was pathos from deep within. A power that pushed him toward writing several chapters ahead, thinking up new and sneaky ways to hide hidden meanings and reflect on society.

At first, nobody really noticed. And when they did, instead of dismissing his story, critics started praising him for the depth and meaningfulness. Big win for Kyle Broflovski! And even bigger win for his employer once his name became recognizable among their non-translated authors.

But there was still the problem with Kenny. After their short meeting, the youth never showed up in front of his door for coffee or to praise his recent efforts and with the wilting of that fragile pink buttercup the signs of his existence disappeared from Kyle’s home. As if he never truly existed in the first place. At some point, Kyle started to doubt his own memories and no matter how hard he clutched into the idea of someone living among the stars, he lost some of his drive.

Tormented by doubts, he opened the heavy glass door to the publisher’s office by pulling on the knob and quickly pushing it forward with his body. One of his hand was full of files filled with the latest manuscript pages of reviews, an five pages long article translation titled “Science Fiction and the Myth Creation of our Decade” while the other held a dark orange coat and tried to keep the escaping pages in their place.

“I hate this weather! I leave the house and I’m freezing but by the time I get here, my skin is melting,” he exclaimed, as he finally dropped his cargo at his desk and the pages scattered around, essays mixing with the newest adventures of his hero. The sight only caused him to fume even more as he let out an angry curse while he tried to put his things together.

“When will you learn not to bring in everything at the same time?” Bebe, the receptionist looked at him with disbelief. She had her elbow on the table, propping up her chin with an amused smile.

“When Adler learns not to warn us about the deadline in the last moment.”

“Don’t try to blame this on him. We have the deadlines written up in that calendar over there, see?” she pointed at a calendar depicting cats in various goofy outfits. “Admit it, you just love to wait until he personally warns us. The thrill of a near death situation…” Kyle was about to open his mouth to argue with the receptionist, but she quickly intercepted. “Oh no, don’t even try to explain how time is only a concept!”

“But it is…!’

“And you have to keep yourself to it like everyone else.”  Bebe shot him down in the most brutal way possible. Kyle’s face shown irritation, that quickly morphed into a scowl and muttering to himself he finally sat down to his desk.

After he finally managed to arrange the pages back to their original state, he found something that definitely did not belong there and he had no memories of ever obtaining it. A white envelope, which almost went invisible beneath his piles of papers. Holding it between his middle and index finger, he raised it to the air and turned back towards Bebe.

“Oh, that! It arrived with the afternoon mail yesterday! You already went home so I decided to put it there,”

“Bebe, this couldn’t have come by mail. It has no stamps, nor any kind of address.”

“Well, it still arrived bundled together with the rest of our mail, so there is that,” Bebe gave him an unamused look. “Guys… You finally get a fanmail after thousand or so years and you can’t even be happy about it. You’re just like Craig.”

“I’m not like Craig!” Kyle shot back, angrily readjusting his glasses, but curiosity quickly took over his feelings.

The envelope was suspicious. It had no signs of tears, no stamps, not even the address of the building he worked in. Just his name written in scribbles. Turning it around didn’t bring an answer either. From all angles, it looked like a regular fanmail that was somehow delivered by a service that required everything that was missing from the envelope.

“Bebe, if I happen to blow up, take these stacks to Jimmy in my stead,” he called for the receptionist, earning an unamused hum.

He carefully tore an opening by its edges and pulled out a neatly folded, immaculate piece of paper and on the inside a letter took form. The beginning was really out of the blue, neglecting any proper format used by fans when they were talking to their idols.

_Dear, Kyle!_

_First of all, congratulations!_

_Once again you did not disappoint and managed to write a stellar story with a plot that firmly grips one’s attention and does not release them. You made me wish space was this exciting and colourful instead of the silence that lingers around the endless sea of stars. ~~It came to my attention~~ Your way of words resonates to my very being and I find myself looking forward to your writings ~~more than my other subscriptions~~ more and more. The adventures of Cid is what keeps me sane in this station and chases away the boredom where one would start categorizing photo magazines based on colours only to realize that black and red is the only thing they ever use. Maybe pink._

Kyle raised an eyebrow at this, just what kind of photobooks were they? He had a vague idea, but it did not look like a possible option after what he had learned about the youth.

            _Thank you for writing an exciting story like this. I can’t wait for the next issue._

_Kenneth_

So it was indeed him. Kenny was still following his works, even after their underwhelmingly short and awkward meeting. The knowledge sent a rush of happiness through his body, eventually the tingling concentrated in his stomach, inviting a dumb smile to his face as he reread the letter as if he was to memorize its content.

Then he felt it. The familiar sensation of someone reading his fanmail over his shoulder with held back breath. Just as he was about to turn he’d heard a female voice echo in the office space, inviting questioning glances from the rest of his co-workers.

“Ew, your fan is a bit pervy!”

“Now why?” Kyle asked, quickly folding the letter and hiding it in his drawer like a kid, who was caught looking at his father’s raunchy magazines.

“Well, he clearly has a subscription for Playboy. You know, photo magazines? I’m pretty sure he is not categorizing National Geographic.”

“And why are you so sure about this?”

At Kyle’s question, Bebe gave him a look, a look that killed the butterflies in an instant, letting their cold corpses fall the ground with a soft thud. Of course, Bebe knew Playboy… She used to work at the waitstaff... And if Kenny was indeed collecting Playboy magazines as the blonde had suggested then he was definitely not interested in him that way, so everything up until now was based on a cloud made of pink haze. Suddenly, even the knowledge of someone loving his work could not ease the sorrowful feeling that crept up to him.

Maybe Jimmy was right. Naming a character after someone you like only invited heartbreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fly high without any experience, then crash and burn when you get into the first turbulence.
> 
> And yes, Bebe was indeed a bunny girl, but quit because she didn't like the job at all. Smiling and faking interest is just not her thing, however she quite enjoys the job of a receptionist also she knows about every gossip and juicy story thanks to her position. 
> 
> The books and short stories mentioned in the chapter:  
> Robert Sheckley - The People Trap and Street of Dreams, Feet of Clay  
> Bahnov Vladen - Somnambula
> 
> While they are not of importance plotwise, I thought it would be fun to reference actual authors who were active during this period. Also a bonus side of how Sheckley actually wrote stories for Playboy. Which brings us to the bunny magazine. I had fun researching its history to be honest, starting wuth how it started and how it used to have short stories and interviews with authors like Margaret Atwood and Ray Bradbury.


	5. Jim Button can't solve your problems

Weeks passed, September arrived with the speed of a racing car, then crashed straight into the wall with a pitiful sound in its wake. In its trunk, it brought along the feared Author’s Survey, where surprisingly, Kyle’s story got several praises from their reader base and earned a fourth place in the overall ranking among their ongoing serialized novels. Even Adler nodded along finally admitting that letting him work with them might not have been a bad idea on the long run or at least, Kyle finally brought in some money for the published.

Fanmails kept pouring in.

He had a deal for the publication of his first book, signed, verified, given out in two copies, with one of them sitting on his desk.

And yet… _Nothing felt right!_

The fanmails all sounded empty.

The publication contract did not spark any kind of joy within him. It was just a worthless piece of paper in his eyes.

The castle he had built around a single muse crumbled and slowly succumbed to ruin. Sure, it was praised by many, because he had fallen into the strange kind of monotony where repairing collapsed walls, adding new tiles to the roof became a routine, but even Kyle knew that it was only a temporary solution. Each new chapter he had put out was based on the chapter outlines he’d scribbled down into his notebook.

The base of the castle was missing, making the entire construction slowly slide downhill, straight towards the marshlands, only to sink deep into the swamp never to be seen again. A dramatic image, but something that fit the situation almost perfectly.

No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t come up with new ideas.

Furthermore, he slowly lost the ability to write as the monster in the back of his mind kept feeding on his doubts and eventually ended up swallowing his muse. Before he had noticed it, he started stalling, his chapters became shorter, briefer to the point where he got called out for cutting corners with his story and Adler warned him about consequences.

If the castle won’t crumble by itself, then the monster will burn it to the ground!  

Driven by pure frustration, he did the most logical thing he knew, started focusing on his book reviews, avoiding Cináed and his failed judgment as much as he could. When there was no new release to write about, he just read; getting lost in unknown worlds, travelling through planets of memories and joining wars waged by eternal creatures.

 

 

            Even today, was no different from the rest of his uninteresting everydays. He woke up around eight, reluctantly dragged himself out of bed, only to end up on his couch with a mug of coffee that served as his sole source of nutrition for the morning. However, as he idly stared at the pages in front of him, the bell started ringing, dragging him out of the colorful world of steam and pirates, forcing his thoughts back to his empty house.

He knew it from the frequency of the annoying sound that the person standing at his door was his best friend, who probably arrived after his girlfriend pestered him about a visit and a quick checkup. Because that’s how they started calling these visits. Checkups. As if Kyle had a medical condition that needed to be kept under surveillance!

Giving up on his book, he finally got up from the couch and dragged himself through the house only to find not one, but two people at his door. His face immediately made a grimace as he saw the woman with long, flowing black hair and with a stare that equally reflected disappointment and disbelief.

“Ah, Wendy. Shouldn’t you be working?” Kyle asked, making sure that Wendy feels that she is not welcomed today.

“It’s Sunday,” the woman countered. “Shouldn’t you be wearing normal clothes? Nice pajamas.”

“It’s only 8am,” Kyle shot back, stepping away from the door as if that would change the fact that he was still waltzing around in his nightwear.

“Eleven. Kyle it’s almost noon,” Wendy kept going on and on about the childishness and irresponsibility that tortured the author. This was their regular routine and bickering. Excuses, corrections and minor comments. However, Kyle was losing this battle, because this time even if it hurt to admit, Wendy brought up legit problems.

It was almost noon, he was indeed wearing his dark blue bed wear. He was still not ready to face the day ahead of him and had the intention to avoid working on his book at all cost while getting lost in the art of Michael Ende instead. He glanced towards Stan’s way, silently begging him to do something, but the man only shook his head wearing an awkward smile.

“Do come in,” Kyle stepped back realizing that there was no way he could talk his way out of this visit. He still made it sure to voice his displeasure by making faces and putting just a spoonful of ire behind his words.

Sadly, Wendy was used to him by now, and the strategy that would’ve hurt someone else, rolled off of her from her, like raindrops that landed on a glass window. The dragon could not be stopped once she decided to unleash her wrath.

 

            As the woman entered his home, she almost immediately headed towards his kitchen. Kyle closely followed in her wake with Stan in tow. Wendy inspected the room and Kyle didn’t have to be a psychic to know that she was utterly disappointed by what she saw. Used mugs were scattered everywhere, the dirty plates and utensils basically poured out his sink. On top of it, Kyle made it worse because eventually he just started collecting them on the counter.

He just couldn’t muster the strength to do anything about it.

After making faces at the dried pieces of food that formed a thick layer on everything Kyle used, and the dark stains of tea in his mugs, Wendy stepped to his fridge wearing a scowl on her face mentally preparing herself for the worst that has yet to come. And truth to be told, even Kyle had no idea what was in there, because whenever Stan visited him, he just dumped the plastic foodboxes next to his ever growing collection, often without even taking time to taste Wendy’s cooking.

Whatever was inside disgusted Wendy, however after inspecting the fridge’s contents, her disappointment was not directed towards Kyle, but Stan who secretly hoped that he will be left out from the rampage.

“Stan, I told you to make sure he eats! Have you ever looked at his kitchen?!”

Stan was visibly shocked by the sudden attention he had gotten from Wendy, but he couldn’t really defend himself and in the end, he admitted his own failure by shaking his head.

She let out a deep sigh then closed the door. However, Kyle could not escape from her wrath either. “And you, just what kind of scientific experiment are you raising in the fridge? Do you have any idea how dangerous is that?”

Kyle felt ashamed and he felt the heat rising to his cheeks. The woman was probably referring to the spoiled food that was covered by blooming fields of colorful mold. Something he would have not allow near his fridge, let alone near his kitchen.

But that was old Kyle. Old Kyle had a sense of duty the new Kyle lost somewhere along the way.

 

He expected Wendy to go on, scold him for being irresponsible, for being too lazy to throw out the food she had sent with Stan every three or four days. He ate some of it when they were fresh, but by the time it’d gotten spoiled he lacked the will to do something about it. Yet Wendy just stood in his kitchen, carefully studied Kyle, staring at him as if she was waiting for Kyle to snap.

But in the end, Wendy just heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose, a habit she took from Stan. Nothing could prepare Kyle to the sentence that followed.

“So, Kyle, do you need any help?”

_Yes! Yes, I do!_

“No. I’m fine.”

“No, you are anything but fine.” Wendy argued as if she was just waiting for this moment. “Look at yourself! You had your heart broken a little bit and you sit here in shambles, because you can’t muster up the will to do something about it! You will lose your job if you don’t do something about this. All of this!” she gestured with his arms and made a circle in the air around herself. “So get down from your Ivory Tower and let me ask you again, do you need help with cleaning?”

“Yes…”

“Good!” She nodded with a satisfied smile and something told Kyle this will be longer than it should be.

\- - -

 

It took them around three hours to finally make sense of the mess Kyle accommodated in the span of one and a half month and Wendy was about to burn the kitchen down several times. Kyle was not simply messy, he was disgustingly messy. At some point, she seriously wanted to throw out the fridge instead of making the boys fight with whatever otherworldly creature the author kept nurturing in the freezing darkness. Originally, she came over, because Stan was a great friend, but terrible companion when it came to dragging people out of broken heartedness. If anything, he had a tendency to sit next to the person and join them as they kept stepping up the negativity in tandem.

Wendy let out a sigh of relief as she looked at them finding a common ground, making faces and comments on their actions. But she could feel that the weak smile on Kyle’s face was nothing but a fragile mask that he put up for the sake of Stan. After all, her boyfriend was almost too easy to fool. If he is smiling then there is truly nothing wrong.

But Kyle can’t fool her and she will make sure to get him back on track even if she has to use force!

\- - -

 

They were back in the living room, Wendy and Stan sitting next to each other on the couch while Kyle’s sofa was turned so he was facing them directly, with no place to escape.

“Do we have to do this?” he asked, embarrassment seeping through his voice as he tried to find an escape route. Without noticing, he ended up at one of Wendy’s sessions.

“No, we don’t have to do anything, but apparently sending Stan to make sure you are still alive is not enough anymore.” Wendy answered, but her smile and tone of voice did not match.

“Hey, I did what I could!” Stan shot back.

“Stan, no offense, but you probably came over, gave him the food, asked if he is alright, then when he said yes, you went home,” Wendy explained.

“We did talk too!” Kyle added.

“Yes!”

            _Like two little kids_ … she furrowed her brows.

“I can only imagine what you can talk about,” Wendy smirked, but did not let them take the conversation off rails.  “So Kyle, please tell me, what happened that caused you to turn into a hermit who lives off on cold pasta and coffee? We came here to help, but we can’t do that if you don’t even tell us what happened.”

“Don’t go full psychologist on me...”

“That is what I want to avoid,” Wendy told him as she leant back in her seat, expecting Kyle to stop tip-toeing around his problem and tell them what was bothering him.

Just what led him to the point where started failing at acting like a human being?

It seemed to be working, because not soon after Kyle averted his gaze as his fingers kept silently tapping against the arms of his sofa. He stared at the carpet, and after he let out a long sigh, he finally mustered enough willpower to let his thoughts roam freely.

What Wendy did not expect, was the flood of feelings that kept pouring out with each new sentence.

“I’ve met someone recently. or rather, he came to me? We talked for a bit and I think we both enjoyed each other’s company. But the thing is, I... “ he stopped, looking at Stan, but the man only shook his head in disbelief. “So, before I say more, let’s state that he was really nice and if I could record his voice to keep listening to it, I would. Maybe even ask him to sing some of the cheesy songs Stan loves so much. He could salvage them. And then the blond hair that reminded me of autumn, because it was not a perfectly even colour like Bebe’s.” he would’ve went on and on about Kenny’s eyes and the calm air that surrounded him, but words suddenly stopped in his throat when he realized that he is still in his living room with the company of his friends, gushing about a guy he’d only met once in his life.

Warmth quickly spread to his face, burning his cheeks as he closed his mouth and refused to utter a single word.

However, what he saw in Wendy’s eyes was adoration, maybe some sense of wonder as the woman curiously leant forward.

“So after almost a lifetime, the great Kyle Broflovski fell in love,” she stated her diagnosis, making Kyle sink lower in his sofa, hoping that the abyss within the cushions, that kept stealing his coins will eventually swallow him too.

Was this love? Not just a simple crush?

“I wouldn’t call it love,” he noted in embarrassment, but Wendy was adamant.

“No, it is love. On top of it, the purest version of love!” she smiled, but her expression quickly turned serious. “However, love does not pull you down to a hole, unless something bad happened.”

“Nothing bad happened.” Kyle tried to save face, avoiding any form of eye contact with Wendy.

“No, something happened,” Stan added earning a betrayed look from his friend. “You were so keen on writing a book about your alien and now you don’t even want to write anymore.”

He was right. Ever since Kyle realized that Kenny might not be interested in him, writing not only became harder but more impossible. Words did not come to him anymore and as he sat in front of his typewriter.

“Nothing really happened,” he murmured under his nose.

“Yes, and we are all here today because nothing really happened. Kyle, it’s not weakness if you have to talk about it,” Wendy tried to reassure him, folding her legs as she took a more relaxed posture. If they leave now then Kyle will most definitely go back to his casual self-destructive behavior and truth to be told, Wendy did not feel like playing the role of a babysitter anymore.

            At first Kyle only sighed in irritation, but eventually he opened his mouth and started speaking, biting the end of his words, meshing them together as his embarrassment slowly took over, hastening his speech. But ultimately it was nothing more than a string of excuses and justification for his behavior. Wendy still did not get any information about the cause.

“And all of this happened because…?” she tried, raising an eyebrow.

“Because he happens to read Playboy and this also means that he is definitely straight,” Kyle finally stammered out as he buried his face into his palms.

At this point Wendy could not decide to laugh or walk out of the living room. Instead her professional side took over and she gave the distressed author the declaration he needed to hear for a long time now.

“Kyle, you are stupid.”

“I am not!”

“No you are! Are you telling me that you are sitting here, moping over your future boyfriend because he happens to buy Playboy?” Kyle raised his index finger and he was about to start arguing, but Wendy was faster. “No, don’t even try to explain. We both know that at this point you are trying to justify what fits your overly dramatic imagination, not what is actually the truth. Have you actually tried to do anything to find out what he thinks of this? No Kyle, you did not. Because you would rather sit here and wallow in self-pity than to do anything. And no, reading Jim Button does not count as actively trying to solve a problem!”

She nodded towards the table, where a half-read book was waiting to be finished.

“I’m reading it because I’m searching for inspiration.”

“By stalling everything? Oh please, we all know that you are afraid of stepping forward if you are aware that you have to face actual consequences!” Wendy’s voice was stern, repeatedly hitting Kyle where it hurt the most and mercilessly turning the knife in his guts.

Kyle couldn’t answer.

Was he stalling the inevitable? Most likely. Writing meant publishing, publishing meant that Kenny will eventually read it, if Kenny reads it he will definitely see that the quality of his stories drastically worsened, if only…

“He reads my works,” Kyle muttered to himself, his index finger tapping at his chin as his brain ran around the idea.

Eventually he got so lost in his own thoughts, that he completely missed the smile that appeared on Wendy’s lips and the horrified look on Stan’s face.

“That means, if I want answers and get a message across I can use my writing! Yes, that’s what I have to do!” Kyle explained, standing up from his cushioned prison, only to get halted by Stan.

“First of all, get dressed, we are going to get you some real food because if I’m hungry then you are about to starve to death. After that you can dance in your one home naked, I don’t care,” he groaned. “I can’t believe I had to sit through this talk aga--”

Before he could have finished his complaining Wendy slapped his back. They just dragged Kyle out of the hole he’d dug for himself, there was no need for her boyfriend to ruin everything.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyle wallowing in writer's block because of his muse? It's more likely thank you think! 
> 
> While this chapter did not really contain any references, the two you can spot are. Stanisław Lem's Solaris and Michael Ende's Neverending Story and Jim Button and Lukas the Ending Driver. Ende is especially interesting because people consider him to be a children's author, while he himself wrote for all ages. (Similarly to Tove Jansson and her Moomins) Furthermore, since he often tackled cultural problems in his books, he actually seems like the author Kyle would seek out when he is in a pinch.


	6. No escape from rumormongers

To say that Kyle got out of his slump without any bumps or stones along the road would be an overstatement. First, he had to realize that he plan to avoid Kenny and his pirate alter ego worked too perfectly, and in the meantime, he completely lost track of his own progress with the pirate adventure. As he stared at the issues on _Absolutum_ in front of him, he felt completely disconnected from his own story and had no idea if he was still able to bring out the quality that stared back at him from the light, salmon coloured pages. However, as he kept reading his own story, the adventures and plans slowly returned, breathing new soul into the plot. However, he couldn't fill in the gaps that were created by the complete absence of muse.

Yes, because his muse never quite returned to him, no matter how hard he stared at the sky or waved towards the stars at night. No matter how many times Kyle heaved a defeated sigh, Kenny remained silent without ever making himself known or showing up on his porch at three in the morning.

As a last cry for attention, he decided that Cid needs a companion, someone who serves as a reflection of the author. Shameless as it is, a representative of himself. Of course, not a complete self-insert, but someone who can communicate his thoughts and feelings to Cid, or in his case, Kenny. In the end, he added gardener, who was taken unwillingly to this seemingly endless journey, but ended up staying when he realized that there is a pirate suffering from terminal martyrdom. And this is the tale of how Kilian, the loudspoken man from the Ashlands joined the crew and became the right hand man of his protagonist.

If that won’t reach Kenny, then he had officially ran out of ideas.

 

            What Kyle did not expect that day was a letter waiting for him on his table, hiding beneath the cover plans and several page-samples and illustrations. As he sat down and inspected the white envelope, he realized that once again, it lacked any kind of clear indication of the sender and once again, the address was missing, only his name was scratched into the paper with hasty writing. He didn’t even have to open it to know that it was from Kenny.

And for some reason it sent a weird sensation through his entire body. He could feel his heart beating wildly in his ribcage as if it wanted to escape at the first possible chance. So Kenny did not completely forgot him while he was focused on hiding from the world?

            With shaking hands, he started to pry open the glued end of the envelope, carefully wedging his index finger between the paper to avoid damaging and tearing the paper as if the envelope was part of the message. When he unfolded the yellowed paper, he couldn’t help but smile at the first sentence that unveiled the sheer frustration of its sender. It seemed to be a late addition, because the ink on the paper was different. 

 

**_THIS is not a fanmail! Please, pretty pretty please don’t publish it or else my boss will send me to the fossil mines of Velalia!_ **

 

_My beloved author,_

_Accept my congratulations on the survey! You did great and I can’t wait to see what kind of adventure you are going to come up next and what kind of interesting territories will you show us next!!_

_On the other hand, are you faring well? Not to sound like a creepy stalker, but you have been spending worrying amount of time in the shelter of your own home without ever stepping out to the garden. Every morning I wait to see if you leave the house, but nothing really happens. I hope disaster did not struck you and you are healthy and well. Maybe we have missed each other?_

_I know I have told you this, but seeing your name under a title always brightens up my day and I’d probably die if I couldn’t read your works anymore! ~~This place is the most boring shithole I’ve ever seen.~~ Yes, I’d die, die of boredom!_

_I wish I could personally visit you right now, but that would definitely put me in the depth of said fossil mines for leaving my post and I’d have to exist without ever seeing those grey eyes of yours, something I’m not ready to give up on yet. I’ll write soon, but we only get visited by the emissary once a month so it might take a while._

_Until then, take care and never let yourself get deterred from your goal!_

_Sincerely,_

_Kenneth_

 

As he read the letter over and over again, carefully analyzing each sentence Kyle couldn’t decide whether to laugh, jump around like a newborn foal or to cry from the frustration that welled up in his stomach. All three actions would probably worry his coworkers, even warrant a call to a mental institution.

Kenny not only wrote him a letter, it was rather personal too and he was sure if Wendy was to read it, she would laugh into his face calling him out on his fatalist worldviews. But Kyle was not so easy to fool! It might have been possible that Kenny felt sorry for him, after he couldn’t see him and decided to write something encouraging. How did he even see Kyle? Was alien technology so advanced that he was able to see the streets even from outer space? Or maybe he was not even an alien, but a stalker who actually followed him around? No, stalkers don’t just evaporate into thin air, so the alien part must be true at least.

           While he was lost in the field of his own thoughts, he felt a sharp poke in his side, causing him to jolt out of reflex.

“Earth to cadet Broflovski, earth to cadet Broflovski! We are about to land on planet Daydream!” someone laughed next to him as another nailed finger poked him, this time in the arm. Blue eyes were staring back at him, outlined by a thin curved black line. “You were so lost in thought, for a moment it looked like you were possessed by a body snatcher or something.”

“Bebe, that’s... “he was about to start arguing, before Bebe poked him again, sending a ticklish sensation through his body. “That’s--” and again, “That’s not a permit for you to go around poking people!”

“But it is my duty to rush you back to work!”

However, no matter how hard he tried to push Bebe away, the woman was relentlessly found new territories on his side, causing him to just give up and bury his head into his arms, as he leant forward on his desk, trying to suppress his laughter.  

“I have no idea what was in that letter, but you had the dumbest smile I’ve seen in a while.” she said, when she finally stopped torturing the poor author. Kyle raised his head in confusion, his glasses slipping to the side.

“What?”

“You were all doom and gloom for the past month or so! I seriously thought you are going to die from loneliness like a guinea pig.”

“Please don’t bring guinea pigs into the conversation,” Kyle groaned, re-adjusting his glasses. He had enough of seeing promotional artworks of guinea pigs dressed up in spacesuits all over the office. He would not openly admit this in a hundred years but he was terribly jealous of that bastard Tucker for hoarding most of the attention and promotional materials.

“Still a sore spot, I see,” she chuckled, pushing a lock of hair behind her ears. “Alright, I’ll leave you with your love letter now…. Make sure not to soak it with drool.”

 

_Just what was her problem?_

Kyle looked after her as the woman, who wore heels even indoors elegantly walked back to her seat behind the counter and got back to work, typing something into a grey and yellow program on her computer. Probably some kind of equipment order form or a list of their publication schedule. With Bebe nobody really knew as she acted as their receptionist, human resources and management personnel. Her importance was clearly visible thanks to the bulky computer that sat on her desk. The computer that only few could afford even in Kyle’s workplace.

Suddenly the door opened as if a hurricane just swept through their office, and Clyde Donovan pretty much crashed into the receptionist desk letting out a muffled _“oof”_ as he knocked the air out of his lungs.

“Has it arrived? HAS IT ARRIVED?” he looked at Bebe as if his life depended on the answer.

“Good morning to you too,” Bebe gave him a cold answer, as she kept typing on her computer. She hit backspace several times, before putting up her usual receptionist smile. She probably made some typos thanks to the impact.

“Yes, yes, good morning! Has it arrived?!” he leant over the counter in hope to find whatever he was waiting for. “Bebeeee!”

“A-a. Did you bring me what I asked?”

“Oh, this?” from his backpack, he pulled out an A4 size magazine, on its cover a woman dressed as she leant against a white wall, looking like a nymph from ancient stories. When he saw the title he was struck by an ominous feeling, but decided to turn back to his work, focusing on editing his essay about the Drake equation.

However, being human and being curious did not help his case, because he continued eavesdropping on his coworkers.

“Why do you even need this? You are not even working for them anymore.”

“I guess I wanted to see how the magazine is nowadays. You know, like when you walk past your old workplace and realize all the innovations.”

“Well, whatever makes you happy, but I want it back by the end of the day!”

“How skinflint. Alright, here is your letter from the fairy community. But I keep telling you not to give out or address for non-work related stuff!”

            Clyde let her warning slide and focused on the big picture.

“They are not fairies! Elves, Bebe! ELVES!”

“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure to not let Adler see your little invitation letter to the fairy dance before he sends you on an adventure to find a new job.”

Kyle didn’t need three diplomas to know that the topic of the conversation was probably about the community Clyde joined once he had some kind of major revelation after reading the Fellowship of the Ring at the age of 17. He thought about looking up the book in question, but fantasy was too far away from his chosen profession and it lacked the depth of science that he was always on the lookout when it came to science fiction.

And truth to be told, fantasy lacked the kind of exposure he was looking for as a fledgling author. If he wanted to earn fame, he would have to bend under the critical pressure even more than he did with science fiction. Such was the life of fantastic literature.

As he was thinking about the differences between authors of different genres, something landed on his desk with a loud thud, causing Kyle to jump in his seat.

The same woman looked back at him, trying to be seductive but failing hard. As he looked up to see the source of the incoming raunchy content, he saw Bebe, who winked at him in response.

“Wends told me about it,” she stated matter of factly.

Kyle made a face at her, but deep down he was screaming and cursing Wendy’s name, attaching all of the known swears as adjectives.

“So you went out your way to acquire a magazine?” he forced out, but his smile was anything but genuine. “From Clyde of all people?!”

“You clearly need to get your head out of your ass and forcing you to confront the source of problems seems to be the best solution,” she explained.

“Sure. Why do you even know Wendy?”

Bebe just shrugged. “Some high school friendships never die, I guess. But enough about me, open it!”

“I’m not going to open a… a porn magazine at work! What if Adler sees me?!”

“Then we are going to tell him that we are looking at references for a new female character in your story. You don’t even need to flip through it, just look” she stated, opening the magazine at the first page that contained a small introduction and a lengthy list labelled as table of contents. “The easiest way to get over this if you see it with your own eyes!”

Kyle skimmed through the page and his eyes stopped at several familiar names. Authors, who were well respected in their own genres have given their names to short stories that looked adult oriented even by name.

“You can’t just publish dirty stories on the pages of a magazine without earning yourself a trip to the porn section, so Playboy actually gives a forum for authors to publish their adult oriented works,” Bebe explained it to Kyle, rolling up the magazine and hiding it under her arm to save the author from further second-hand embarrassment.

Burying his head into his palms, Kyle could only ask with a muffled voice “So you think he might be buying it for the stories and not the pictures?”

“It is entirely possible. There are fans who are capable of buying an entire magazine just to read something written by their favourite author.” she wiggled her eyebrows. “But you know this already. A guy who keeps going out his way to send you letters probably genuinely likes you so don’t let your brain get in the way.”

With that she gently hit Kyle on the head with the magazine and returned back to her desk to greet the delivery men who just brought in the sample books before they would order hundreds of copies. Maybe in a month, his will be among the pile too…

Once again, Bebe arrived, dropped some new informations on Kyle so he has something to chew on then she left like everyone else in the past few days, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Kenny somewhat cared for him and his wellbeing. Seemingly these feelings went above the usual author-glorification. Kyle had his proof in the form of a letter that hardly ever mentioned his career as an author, but the wish for a reunion. However, Kyle needed more. More signs, more contact, more clues. He wanted to believe in Kenny, but this whole situation seemed far too surreal for his taste. Too many possibilities lingered in the air and he had no tools to get rid of them.

The only connection they had was a one sided conversation that continued from both sides, occasionally corresponding to the other.

Occasionally. It was entirely possible that plenty of miscommunications happened they just weren't aware of this.

However, there were no questions, therefore there were no answers.

Just writing into the void, hoping for some kind of cosmic miracle that would bring them closer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We ended the Playboy arc! And look, Kenny is back! Well, somewhat back!


	7. Garden of Memories

If you want to write about gardens, then it is recommended to visit a garden; that was the thought that played in Kyle’s brain on loop as he set up a foldable table in his garden and dragged his creaky wooden chair out in the open. His only enemies were the pesky leaves falling into the typewriter and the cold autumn winds that left goosebumps on his arms, demanding him to wear an ugly sweater his mother bought at a thrift shop several years ago. No matter how much he’d kept hoping that this piece of garment will fall victim to the moths that occasionally ravaged his wardrobe of unused clothes, not even moths wanted to taste the disgusting coloured lined sweater to justify a trip to the clothes store.

Although he had a sudden resolution to write in a nice garden, his backyard was nothing special. There were no secrets hidden behind every corner, fairy folk never danced around the mushrooms and its flora was nothing truly remarkable. It was just what is was, a plain old garden that he tried to keep under control by using yellowed books on gardening.

Back in spring, he planted annual flowers, but those were nowhere to be seen now, only their brown and green leaves treasured their colourful memories. However, the columbines were seemingly not disturbed by the weather at all. They kept growing newer leaves almost as if they were ready to greet spring in six months and wanted to rush ahead of everyone else. And to cause him some headache, here and there the accursed dandelions, those pesky weed-flowers, were also waving back at him with their reddened leaves.

Along the fences that separated him from the neighbours his late grandfather’s roses kept dropping away their petals as the chilly autumn breeze gusted over their blooms. The persistent yellow roses served as an exception, they bloomed proudly in the harsh autumn weather, blending perfectly into the sepia-coloured world around him.

In the corner there was a small quince tree that decided to live as a bush halfway through its lifetime, Kyle remembers eating from its fruits, while now as an adult, he wouldn’t dare to take one for himself, in case his memory was wrong. He was not so keen on experimenting with unchecked fruits even if they were from his own garden.

As Kyle looked around another leaf found its way to his nose, wedging itself between his face and his glasses. The thick lumpy-edged bastard that belonged to the tree they planted with Stan was an experiment. Stan told him the acorn will turn into a tree, Kyle was denying the fact telling him that a small acorn could not possible be the point of origin of a tall giant. How wrong he was about that…They were ten at the time, and the tree now towered over him like a proud reminder of his poor decision making.

That seemed to be his special skill at life.

He flicked the leaf away, then hesitantly looked up at the pale blue sky. His thoughts were nowhere near romantic. Part of the true reason why he was so eager to freeze his fingers off in the garden, was because he wanted Kenny to see him. Part of Kyle was even hopeful that maybe in his next letter he will mention Kyle’s absurd idea of writing outside, maybe pointing out his disastrous sweater of choice, giving some hints to Kyle about how much he can truly see from that station of his. Is he only a dot on the picture? Or can Kenny see his face and expressions? There were so many questions left unanswered between them thanks to their limited communications. So many feelings that might have been the result of miscommunication…

_I wonder if you can see this now_ , he thought to himself with a smile, as he childishly picked up helicopter leaf that made its way to his garden from his neighbour’s maple tree and plastered it on his nose. He looked ridiculous, but if Kenny sees this, he will have a good idea about the capabilities of that telescope.

Usually, he would not let himself be so stupid. There were rules he had to follow, steps to mimic, society would harshly judge any moment of childishness. But this was his own garden, where nobody would call him out as he started writing while wearing a green Pinocchio nose and a goofy smile on his face.

\- - -

    Cid and Kilian arrived at a standpoint in their journey after they stumbled into a hidden little planet ruled by the owl constellation Noctua. It was a planet of gardens that stored memories like the old Library of Alexandria. However, Noctua who became corrupted after the curse, cherry picked the memories worth preserving and destroyed the rest, creating a planet of ruins. While he tried no to boast about it, Kyle couldn’t help but smile at the clever allegory about modern-day memory preservation and censorship.

Noctua, the symbol of absolute power over knowledge, was probably one of the more fearsome enemies he had created. The human sized owl, with its twinkling dark wing and tail feathers was capable of twisting words so they suited its needs and changed the documented events of history. Upon arriving his heroes had to face with a deceiving twisted illusion of their former memories, waddling through events that did not truly happen the way it was presented to them. But the garden was not only a place where his heroes were to be tested, it served as a stage for an important revelation. Colours seeped across his face as he started working on a chapter centering around Kilian and his feelings.

Eventually Cid got trapped by false memories, refusing to leave the garden as he slowly let Noctua pull a veil over his memories. However, Kilian was not so easy to deceive, while he had his fair share of problems, unlike Kyle, he hardly left any regrets in his wake. So while the owl believed that it had stopped the travellers and their crew, Kilian made a plan. Using the paintings he had found hidden in the dungeons of Noctua’s castle, because the owl was awake at daytime, he spent his nights replanting and restoring the garden into its former glory by using childish drawings as his map. Eventually he managed to shake Noctua out of the negative influence.

Kilian was the hero of this storyline. Here and there, Kyle made sure to drop small hints about the relationship between their characters, both physical and emotional. Making his heart constrict painfully whenever he went against what he wanted and followed what the plot deemed right.

Kilian was not him.

Cid was not Kenny.

But after some time, these differences became smudged, letting Kyle’s personality slowly bleed into the character, giving it a peculiar tone that both belonged to him and to Kilian. A proud smile played on his lips as he finally came to a solution that would get his thoughts across, but also set the story in motion and elevate it to a different level.

 

Sitting in his garden, he took a sip from his lukewarm coffee, grimacing as the tender bitterness touched his tongue. So far he had written around six pages and he was nearing the maximum page count quite fast. If he rushes it, he might completely ruin the message, if he does not write a strong ending, he Kenny might forget what’s the deal with this garden when he reads the continuation!

Sighing to himself he reached for a biscuit Wendy has left with him several days ago.

Such is the life of someone who has to come up with a fitting ending every two weeks compared to the person who just writes the book in one sitting and publishes it as a whole.

“I have to take Kilian away from Cid,” he mused to himself as he stared at the tree in front of him.

If he airs the possibility of Kilian leaving the story, he can leave the chapter at a cliffhanger that will surely make Kenny think for the forthcoming weeks! A devious plan formed in his mind as his fingers tapped a curious dance over the letters on his typewriter.

Around him, the garden slowly took up a darker shade, saying goodbye to its vivid colours as the scenery sunk into shadows.

 

\- - -

 

            The next time he sat out in the garden the weather was much colder, autumn winds already brought the promise of winter. He was forced to wear a synthetic, baggy orange coat that let out loud swishing noises at the smallest movements… He preferred his brown, linen trench coat, but that could not keep him warm for hours and Kyle was not so keen on spending a week in bed when he was nearing the climax of a story! The author silently cursed to himself when his ears started to tingle from the cold, and he was eventually forced to hunt down his ratty green trapper hat in the attic adding even more disharmony to the hideous attire.

            Bebe already made plenty of comments on his disastrous wardrobe and outrageous colour choices, but this time she would straight up call the fashion police on him.

            He couldn’t help but smile at the picture of a dumb scene, where Bebe, wearing the trademark grey blanket ambulance gives to shocked people, anxiously rambling about the giant pumpkin man who has to be stopped for the sake of fashion. Kenny, who was looking at the scene from above wouldn’t even have to use his see-all-telescope because Kyle would be a beacon of orange, soon to be dragged away by police officers who dressed according to the latest trends, their expensive shoes clicking on the concrete as they put a brown burlap bag over his entire body before they pushed Kyle’s body in the car and let him fall to the side like a bag of potatoes.

 The scene would end with Kenny leaning back in his futuristic chair wearing a resigned frown, already planning how to get Kyle out of fashion prison.

            Just like how Kilian tried to find a way to get Cid back to his senses.

Using his gardening skills, did his best to weed out the garden, replant the flowers that were originally there and use the correct colours for the flowers that Noctua had torn out. At this, Kyle had a mesmerizingly devious and brilliant idea and his lips twitched into a small smile …

            The version of Cid who did not remember Kilian had openly showed affections towards the latter. This will force Kilian to choose between two extremes, one of them being a false reality where he would never feel at home!

            A devilish joy glinted in his eyes as his gloved fingers tapped at his trusty typewriter, punching the ink ribbon to the paper as it left a trail of letters in its wake. Each line ended with the soft ring of the machine, then he pushed it back to its original position and restarted the whole procedure until a scenery came to life on the pages.

Without noticing, he created a steady rhythm that eventually joined to the music of the rustling leaves of his own garden.

 - - -

            Over weeks of hard work Kilian had restored most of Cid’s memories. Yes, most of it. Kyle intended the second book to be more of a homage to Solaris where being lost in memories might cause people to go insane and suffer from delusions. Eventually Noctua joined Kilian as a temporary companion, nagging, annoying and one who would say what’s on its mind without an inkling of empathy. Its owl-like body grew big in the darkness and became translucent as the rays of sun touched its feathers for the first time. Together they went through wars, saw humanity find peace in misunderstood paintings, people getting lost in the daze of work, glimpses of Kyle’s old works that couldn’t stand the test of time and caused him to almost lose his job, resurfaced in the form of small stories.  

            However, because this time Cid served as the spine of these small epigrams, they found their audience quite soon. Maybe it was never about his skills, but about the fact that he couldn’t create characters who would act as his speakers and bring out the feelings he originally intended to communicate.

            He thought of the letters Kenny had sent him every two or three weeks.

Just like his stories, the letters grew longer, more personal. Kenny wrote him about his planet that was similar to Earth. Where a war over fossil fuels left a dark footprint over the history of the entire planet, making a small continent uninhabitable by humans.

Then there was Kenny gushing about his shy little sister and the forever doom and gloom big brother. Even Kyle had noticed that he left out the topic of parents on purpose, almost as if that particular part of his life was better left out from the entertaining anecdotes. Curiosity kept nagging him to weave questions into their story, but in the end, he talked himself out of it.

If Kenny wants to talk about it, he will write it down, he told to himself. They still needed more time and more personal meetings before the whatever-they-had could hold up against the storm brought by sensitive topics.

Nodding to himself he pulled out a new paper from his white folder and rolled it between the metallic cylinder of his typewriter.

Kyle was not aware of the avalanche he would start by continuing with his original plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally CH7 used to be twice the size, however due to a big shift in tone, I decided to publish the "Kenny" side of this chapter later, so you all have some time to get ready to Kyle burning bridges beneath himself. (Because he is too dumb to get off the bridge).


	8. Domestic Pressures

Originally Kyle did not want any kind of romance in his story. He wanted to stand tall and never let himself be influenced by readers and his own nosy coworkers. However, thanks to his latest chapters and the events that took place in the garden Cid and Kilian slowly grew out to be a Kirk and Spock case, but on a smaller scale. Or maybe, to stay in the realms of published fiction, they were the the science fiction equivalent of Holmes and Watson. People were theorizing, making up their own versions on how the story should go, what actions his characters should take and eventually this started to become a disturbing problem on Kyle’s end.

While he _knew,_ he should’ve been happy that people have found something to chew on, but at the same time, nobody mentioned his clever societal critiques or the colorful worlds he had described. They only saw the romance unfolding before their eyes.

            Should he even continue if people can only focus on the shallowest part of his writing? Why does he even bother to come up with new ideas, when he could just go and write some sappy space romance novel and drop in an intergalactic monster that would steal a helpless, screaming woman?!

            He finally hit another wall made of concrete.

            However, while last time he became discouraged because he started doubting his own muse, this time a terrible feeling of bitterness and disappointment started clawing at his heart and his own readers poisoned his mind. Things were not right.

The letters tried to coerce him into doing something he did not want to!

“Is everything alright, Broflovski?” Clyde asked him as he was trying to make his way through another wave of letters on how he should unfold the story and what he should focus on and why and why does he even focus on the constellations, because what about the budding romance between Cid and Kilian? Kyle was about to scream from frustration!

So for the first time, he completely ignored Clyde, and did not even nod as a response. He just opened another envelope only to be greeted by an even more demanding letter.

“Heeey! I asked you something!” the brunet leaned back in his chair, throwing a disbelieving look towards Kyle’s direction.

“Don’t you have anything better to do, Donovan?” Kyle growled back, eyes never leaving the letter in front of him. He did not want to snap, but the amount of tension that kept building up in his mind prevented him from switching tones.

“Let me think about it…. Nope. Not when you are radiating with negative energy of a thousand black holes. Have you ever thought about how you shouldn’t read all that trash? It will just ruin your writing.”

“An author needs to know what his readers think of his work!” he answered in a conceited tone. What does Clyde know about writing, anyway? “For your information, it might be useful!”

“Pfff.” The man snorted,” Useful for what? To anger yourself even more? ” Clyde raised a brow questioningly as he continued rocking to and fro on two legs of his chair, “Look, you are clearly a beginner at this so believe me when I say, those are almost the most toxic pieces of trash you will ever encounter in your life,” he gestured towards the fan letters lying on Kyle’s desk with a mildly disgusted expression.

            Kyle chose not to hear his comments, he just kept reading, hoping that Bebe or someone will eventually step in and stop Clyde from spouting nonsense. But none of them really moved in to help him out from this embarrassing situation. Even Bebe was awkwardly playing with her fingernails and refused to raise her head. What a great friend!

“Look, don’t take this to heart, but what I meant to say is, don’t get on your knees to please your readers. It does not worth it.” Clyde continued, his frown deepening.

“Maybe don’t talk like someone who knows how to write,” Kyle spat back, loudly throwing his papers on the desk.

“But please! Believe it or not, I know how to write!”

“Sure you do. Don’t you have any scams to write about? Invisible inks? Video vinyls and intergalactic lemon bars?”

There was hurt on Clyde’s face, but he quickly coated it with a layer of faux suavity. He clearly had enough of Kyle and his way of making himself out to be more important than others. And why? Because Kyle happened to write stories and not articles! In the meantime he completely disregarded the fact that the brunet had several published novellas under his name and an entire saga he had written for his drawer, without ever thinking about publishing it! Just because he was not running up and down, flashing the list of his published works, it did not mean he was not an author!

However, Kyle was neither thoughtful nor attentive enough to remember these kind of things and in his anger Clyde said something that was on his mind for a while now.

“Just tell me, what crawled up your ass and died there? A xenomorph? People are not buying the anthology for your works alone so you better get off the high horse and stop playing the role of a naked emperor before I punch you off of it. This fake fabric does not benefit you at all, it only shows how little you pack down there!” the words broke through the silence as water tears down a dam, ruining everything in its wake.

            Kyle opened and closed his mouth, gaping like fish out of water as anger slowly veiled up in the pit of his stomach. He had no idea where to start, what to reply and what hurt more, everything turned into a confusing mesh of emotions. One word more, and he would have jumped at Clyde, strangling him in the serene atmosphere of their shared little office space. Instead, he rose up from his chair and quickly left the place, seeping in rage as he stomped through the labyrinth of tables and chairs, sweeping papers off the desk with his momentum.

He had to get away from Clyde.

 Away from the possibility of attempted murder.

 

Before he realized it, Kyle was back at his safe haven; the staircase that led out of the building. Flopping down on the hard concrete ground, he childishly stretched his legs so they were reaching over the steps. The weather was too cold for lying down and this part of the building had little to no heating. Shivering, he pulled the back of his sweater down, so it was covering more of his lower body then continued staring at the cross-ribbed glassblocks in front of him.

Was he truly that haughty? He never boasted about his success as an author and definitely did not put down others in order to make his success look better. On the other hand…

“You hurt him really bad,” he heard a voice behind him just as the heavy door closed with a loud metallic click.

But of course, Donovan would run straight to his bestie and tattle-tell on him. And now Craig Tucker was there to lecture him about proper behavior. Just right. 

“That’s none of your business” he shot back, refusing to look up at the other man. If he wants to speak with him, he will have to get on his level and sit.

“If you make a grown man cry and said grown man happens to be my friend, it becomes my business. So... you had it coming.”

_Great. Just great._

“So what? Are you going to quote phrases from your guinea pig book to me about friendship and tolerance?”

“No, but I won’t hesitate to kick you off these stairs if you dare to act like a self-conscious prick.” With that Kyle felt a push against his back, with the hard edges pressing into his skin as Craig pushed his upper body forward. Kyle tried to get out of under Craig’s foot, but the response was an even stronger push. He had to put his arms in front of him, to stop the man, from pushing his face into his knees. “The problem is that I’d still go to jail. If I have to murder someone, I don’t want to use that chance up on some random bastard.”

            Suddenly the weight disappeared and he could hear Craig walking next to him. The man leaned into the wall and folded his arms with a judging look. Kyle expected him to be a smartass and start a lecture on how there is a company policy that states, Making Clyde Donovan Cry is a Sin, however, the man brought up a cruel topic, one that had him worked up in the first place.

“You should stop while you can. Listening to comments on your writing just makes you confused and you will eventually start bending over to please them. In the end you will be left with nothing, but the empty feeling of regret.”

“I don’t bend over for anyone,” he fought back miserably, but Craig only raised his brows as he continued.

“You surely don’t. Then why are you so addicted to these fan letters? Why is it your first thing in the morning to bother Bebe about post? Look, I don’t like you,” he stopped as if the words had to be put together on the spot. “I respect you as an author. The people who write you? They don’t matter. They are fans who want the story to go their way without knowing what serves a purpose and what doesn’t. If you listen to them and drop everything for their sake, it will hinder your writing and I can guarantee that Adler will kick you out for good.”

It was true.

He was literally basking in the attention these letters gave him, however he also started stressing more and more about how to implement their kind and often demanding suggestions. It was not only hindering but straight up ruining his fiction. But hearing how his readers don’t matter was painful. They took their time to read his works, so should he just turn his head the other way?

He expected Craig to just go back to work after spilling some droplets from the bottomless well of knowledge on his head, however the man went on. Twisting the rusted knife in his bleeding ego, before craving his initials on the remaining carcass.

“Your writing already started to lose soul and goes in circles because you stress too much about how to jump around to your reader’s wishes. You don’t notice it, because you hardly take the time to read it as a whole.”

 _The nerve of this guy!_ Kyle’s frown only deepened as he looked up and his eyes met with a strict expression.

“Sure, you talk easy! You already have a massive following! Of course you can choose to ignore your readers! Your book will bring in grands even without interaction! But I can’t afford to neglect them!”

“And now you talk bullshit,’ Craig said curtly, shaking his head in disbelief. “I simply know who the most important person is when it comes to my reader base. People will misunderstand your writing. You try to write about class differences and they dump your book in the children’s section because it happens to have fantastic creatures and talking animals. But do whatever pleases you, I won’t butt into your business just don’t forget why you started writing in the first place.”

With this Craig turned around and closed the door behind him leaving Kyle alone with his thoughts.

 

It hurt to admit, but there was something in Craig’s lecture that eventually stuck to Kyle no matter how hard he tried to scrub the memories off. He understood that, just like everyone else in his close vicinity, Craig tried to help in his own way, but Kyle needed to focus all his strength getting out of the web of suggestions, he had tangled himself into. No matter how many warnings he will get about ruining his fiction, it had been done already!

He pulled his legs up, not caring about the cold and rested his elbows on his knees as he stared at the tainted grey wall above the window.

Alright, he had to admit that Craig was right about one thing. He was confused.

            Kyle was not used to attention and the way he perceived it was vastly different from his peers. Being the gifted clever child in his family meant that compliments were rare, and expectation were high. His mother made sure that he will not waste his time and gave him a schedule for a lifetime. A good high school, attending to every possible contest from spelling bee to a math competition, several failed classes taken in music until his mother finally admitted that Kyle was tone deaf. He could not play Bingo on the violin even if his life depended it and his flute skills only amazed stray dogs who rushed to their sidewalk after his terrible practice sessions.

Then as Kyle grew, compliments became scarce and his mother started expecting more than he could ever achieve. Getting into university was not enough anymore, he could not even afford to go below a certain grade. No wonder he got his first mental breakdown in the second year of university and moved out of the family house the moment he had the chance.

The fact that so many people were complimenting him fed into his overachieving nature and led him to do what earned him more of these small rushes of excitement even if he did not want them. People loved the garden, so he write more about the garden! Eventually it only gave him far too many stalling and empty events that did not bring the story forward one bit! 

Realizing his mistake, he buried his face into his hands, sighing loudly.

He was an idiot. The biggest freaking idiot ever known in the history of mankind!

 

He walked back to his own desk in shame as he grabbed the entire pile of letters, then one by one threw them into the trash can. He could feel the eyes of his coworkers slowly burning holes into his back as their curiously stretching their neck to see the outcome of the fight.

His movements suddenly froze in surprise. Among the pile there was a white envelope without any stamps. It was waiting to be noticed among the heaps of trash that kept his attention preoccupied with shallow fame.

            _The person I am writing for,_ he thought to himself as he felt a burning sensation on his earlobes. Craig was right. Craig had seen through his problem faster than he had a chance to voice them properly. He tried to hide the envelope in his pocket with shaking hands, before he resigned himself to tucking the paper’s edge into his pants and quickly pulling his shirt over it. Nobody was allowed to see him change his mind, or admit that the answer was right in front of him the whole time.

With a distinct and spectacular movement, he threw the entire pile into the trashcan. Even those who were still unopened.

He regretted it. Part of him wanted to dig into the trash can, take them out and read them. Kyle felt ungrateful. After all, he just threw them out without ever giving them a chance. This meant that he had denied his readers the chance to get their thoughts across. Guilt gripped into his gut, twisting his insides as he tore his eyes away from the trashcan and hurriedly left the building.

“If Adler’s asking, I’m out on lunch break.” he sputtered to Bebe, who gave him a last worrying look, before Kyle stormed out from the room.

 

            His legs took him out of the building, they went through a small alleyway and eventually settled him at a park that was barely five minutes away from _Absolutum_. As he freed himself from the suffocating atmosphere that lingered around him in the office, he wobbled towards the nearest chair and flopped down. His chest heaved wildly and it took him a good minute to stop his thoughts from whipping frantically through his mind.

The letters in the trashcan. Kenny’s letter. Clyde’s words. Craig’s shoe on his spine… Too many things’ve happened within the span of a day and almost none of them had any positive impact on his life. If anything they only threw him deeper into the murky darkness, which swirled around Kyle for the past week.

 _Is this how Artax have felt when him and Atreyu tried to cross the swamp of sadness?_ he thought to himself.

He only noticed the cold sweat that ran down his back and soaked his shirt when a cold wisp of wind blew tufts of red hair into his eyes. Did he truly get so worked up about this whole thing? No wonder everyone tried to knock some sense into him, then.

He shook his head, as he pulled out the damp envelope from under his shirt. The only person whose opinion ever rang true to him and the person who pushed him forward on this thrilling journey… The tips of his fingers went cold as he carefully tore up the envelope, revealing the longest, but probably the most frustrated letter Kenny had ever written for him.

 

_Dear Kyle,_

_You know it already, because I’m good at repeating myself, but once again, I have enjoyed your latest chapters greatly. The idea about a planet made of gardens jogged my imagination and left me in awe as your prose coloured the bland outlines created by my shallow brain. It makes me wonder if there are truly planets like this floating somewhere in the cold darkness of space. I sure hope they do, because that would make the whole space exploration program a hundredfold more interesting. And you know, I wish I could tell you this in person, maybe ask you to make another cup of those coffee-things of yours, this time with more of that white thingy. (You called it milk, right? It is called melg where I came from.) Being there would also mean that I could ask you, just what in the name of Pavo is wrong with you lately? I’m worried sick over here with no way to even communicate with you directly! I can feel my hair turning grey! Are you eating at all? A stronger gust of wind might blow you away and I wish this was an exaggeration! No, I won’t stop fussing over you, don’t even dream about it._

_Everyday I see you leave the house, wearing a sour expression, something that absolutely does not fit that handsome face of yours, then you come home, weary, shoulders slumping like life had been sucked out of you._

_And the worst thing is, everything I see is hours away from me. Thanks to this shitty system I get recordings way later, so you might by lying dead on the cold concrete while I’m still watching you leave your house! I’m not sure who would kill you, but you certainly worry me enough to make me think about this possibility!_

_I told you once but I hate it. I hate this whole thing, how I have to watch someone I care about have the shittiest days of his life, when I’m sitting here on my ass, watching screens flicker as I write down one or two major events from the news!_

_I signed up for this job to watch a lameass planet bumble around and now I’m here, gobbled up by my own inability because my heart wouldn’t stop for a single moment! I don’t want to look at life through a window. I’m tired of it!_

_My entire heart shivers as I write this down, but I have fallen in love with you, and at first I thought this is a platonic thing because I am infatuated by your writing, but the more I saw you, the more I thought about how I want to be there, I want to be part of the little movie I see on the screen! The thought kept me alive, but also sent me to ruins because now I fear the future where I might get sent back home!_

_Is this my punishment for interfering with the things down there? I’m sure it is._

_But can you blame me? You were the first person whose eyes lit up when I started talking, despite the fact that I forced myself into your house. And you are the person who have shown me that my work can actually be interesting and helped me through the loneliness of this secluded station!_

_Please never stop creating and don’t give up on your vision. Thank you for everything._

_Kenny, your cybernetician_

 

Kyle did not even notice that his entire body had tensed up as he read the letter. In the autumnal park, the temperature dropped even lower and he felt like ground was pulled from under his feet. His eyes burned as he reread the passage, that one passage that answered all of his question, but also ripped his heart to shreds. His stomach knotted painfully and he wanted to run, hide away from the world until he knows how to control the waves of despair and happiness that crashed over his head.

His feelings were requited!

But Kenny was angry with him.

He loved his story.

But Kyle also made him suffer.

 

The dam finally broke and fat teardrops streamed down his face as he thought about the possible meaning behind the last two sentences. It felt like a bittersweet goodbye. Just how long had this letter been sitting there, waiting for him to finally discover it under a pile of empty demands and compliments?!

“You talk about punishments, as if you are the only one suffering,” he choked out, voice laced with a thick web of sadness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, this chapter is long. But it also touches upon a problem every author had at least once in their lifetime. Sometimes it is just something small, like "This is good, but I think pairing B is still better" but sometimes they go into lengthy description on how a story should have gone and the actions of characters. Published fiction is no different.  
> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wanted to finish the story or Sherlock Holmes with "The Final problem" in 1893, but due to fan pressure, he decided to continue the adventures of the detective way into 1917, where he closed off his adventures with "His Last Bow" and even then, there was around 10 years worth of stories, that set before the final chapter! Imaging people demanding you to resurrect a character whose story is already finished in your head!
> 
> Craig's comment about "people disregarding fiction because it has talking animals" is also a common problem because anthropomorphism has more than one uses in literature. One of the examples is Orwell's Animal Farm (1989) that sometimes ends up in the kid's section. Similar is the case with Lao She's Cat Country (1933). I'd also add Watership Down (1972) to this group, because thank to the cuddly bunnies on its cover, it often ends up in places it should not be. 
> 
> Kyle's comment about Atrax and Atreyu is a wink back to the Neverending Story (1979)
> 
> P.S. Kenny's mothertongue actually branched off from the IndoEuropean language family very earily, so some words are similar and the rest is completely different. However, this also explains his human features.


	9. The Disappearance of Kenny McCormick

Kyle never believed in ghosts.

They were otherworldly mystical creatures with far too many shapes and forms to be considered realistic. One source said they were see-through, the other talked of solid particles and reflections, and the third one just literally put a blanket over the problem and called it a day. Furthermore, there were no scientific researches on this case that proved the thousand years old question regarding wandering souls. And yet… There he was, being haunted by a single letter, its words echoing in his brain as he stared at the ceiling in the middle of the night. The prose of those sentences followed him and prevented Kyle from getting farther in his story. If he only hurt Kenny with his writing, did it worth it? But then again, Kenny stabbed him, turning the blade several times and left him on the cold floor it was only natural that Kyle wanted his petty revenge!  

            Before he knew it, he was back at the rustic small coffee shop, chewing angrily on a sandwich as he went through the contents of that letter in his mind. Word from word, page to page.

“He dares to write me all of that!” he seethed as his hurt slowly morphed into uncontrollable disappointment that reached the outside in the form of angry rants.

            In front of him, his gang, made of Stan and David looked at each other, as they let Kyle’s anger run its course. If anything, Stan was probably happy that he did not have to repeat the previous embarrassing experience because he ended up getting scolded by Wendy once they got home. 

“Like, sure go on talk about your homeworld, tell me about your childhood, but this is no way of treating someone! Sorry, that you started hating your job because the lame-ass planet ended up to be interesting! You can’t just infodump on someone then leave him in the mud!” he bit into the sandwich, accidentally pulling out the roasted chicken from between the two pieces of bread as the rest of the vegetables fell out on the other side. “He never even let me talk about _my_ side, but there he is, putting his sufferings into a letter and then just leaving it as that! Cybernetician my ass!” 

            Next to him David and Stan looked at the comical scenery as Kyle kept cursing to himself, because the moment he took his sandwich apart to put back the piece of meat the whole construction fell to its ingredients drawing a loud curse from his lips. By now, they were sure that this too, was Kenny’s fault (just like everything else in the past few days) because according to Kyle, that boy was more destructive than an army of tripods, whatever that meant.

            David more or less knew the reason why Kyle was so passionate about voicing his hurt over a man he never even dated, but it was still too early to jump in and make Kyle face the facts. He’d let him rant some more to let out some of the pent-up tension. Maybe until his coffee goes cold, or the cup becomes empty. 

“I don’t even ask for much, but I can’t believe he freaking scolded me through a letter! Get it? A LETTER! He did not even have the guts to say this into my face! All of—-”

“Okay, wait, slow down for a moment,” Stan raised his head, visibly confused by his friends problem. “So you are angry with him because he scolded you for living like a hermit who wants to freeze to death in his own garden while he is desperately looking for inspiration?”

“More or less, yes,” Kyle nodded, furrowing his brows.

“Holy---,” Stan groaned, as he pinched the bridge of his nose and hung his head. “Why do you hate someone who just wants to take care of you? Of course, he scolded you if you made him worry! You surely can’t be this stupid...”

“Oh no, don’t underestimate him. He can be this stupid,” David chimed finally chimed in, setting down his cup. 

            Should he say it now? Destroy Kyle through the sheer power of truth and untold, unexplored feelings? He enjoyed teasing him, but never really thought about acting as a mediator between some weirdo and one of his best friends. Yet the problem with Kyle was clear as day and if Stan won’t say anything, someone has to shake Kyle back to his senses. His one track mind kept him away from in-depth critical thinking and made him misunderstand his own feelings. 

For example, if Kenny wrote him a frustrated letter, Kyle would clearly react with anger, and that anger couldn’t be soothed even if right after that there was a lengthy confession of love ornamented with other sensitive emotions. Kyle was already angry and even the words made of honey would just turn into oil to fuel his smoldering anger.  

Heaving a sigh, David decided that it was for the better. He will be hated for a day or two, even get some silent treatment, but Kyle would eventually get over it and hopefully he will understand his reasons. Quickly downing the remainder of his bitter drink, he cut into the conversation, when Kyle was about to go another rant about the same thing, but using different words.

“Okay, Kyle, we get it. You _love_ him.”

“Currently I want to strangle him, but go on,” Kyle halted, his brows arching and eyes glinting with curiosity at David’s contradictory statement.

“Ask yourself, do you want to strangle him, because he stomped through your fragile pride, or do you want to strangle him, because whenever you think about him your stomach does a weird backflip? I believe part of you is really pleased to know that someone loves you, but you get frustrated by the lack of communication and physical contact.”

“Well, obviously?! Have you listened to me like, at all?” he threw his hands in the air, almost knocking Stan in the head.

“I did, but all I heard was you being disappointed by your limited way of communication and putting the blame on him for not appearing by your doorstep every other day.” 

            Kyle’s facial expression went through some comical changes over these few sentences. At first, David was sure Kyle would fling his cup toward him, then after mentioning the word love, he noticed a faint blush that kept getting stronger as he hit a nerve about their long distance relationship. In the end, Kyle’s tense expression disappeared and he only murmured in front of him with a barely audible voice.

“What a shameless traitor...”

“But he is somewhat right,” Stan nodded along David. “You haven’t been this worked up about a relationship since Rebecca dumped your ass in fourth grade.” 

“That was a special case!” Kyle defended almost immediately, but Stan only flashed him an evil smile, clinging into the embarrassing story.

“Telling your girlfriend that you do not kiss girls, then getting angry about her breaking up with you _is_ a special case,” he snickered and Kyle wished that a hole would just open under his chair. There were events he was not proud of, and having a revelation when he realized he is not attracted to his girlfriend (or any other girl) was one of them.

“Can we just focus on the bigger problem here?” he noted weakly, hoping to finally stir the conversation away from his past mistakes.

“You mean, your unconcealed thirst for aliens with three dicks? Yeah, that might be the bigger problem here.” David answered his question without batting an eye. 

            And with this, they were back at teasing him. 

But honestly what was he expecting? His friends did everything, but never nodded in unison when he did something terribly stupid or got up and arms about a thing. They learned at an early age, how to handle Kyle’s temperament. The solution was easy, let him rage and let the waves of anger crash into the hills, but never try to stop him. Most importantly, never try to put oil on the fire, because that will only turn his anger into a devastating forest fire.

             If it’s truly just a small problem, try to joke about it, make it seem lighter and eventually Kyle will calm down. 

True, he would never apologize, his was too prideful for that. But he would also drop the topic and find something else to chew on giving momentary peace for his friends.

 

Sighing to himself, he decided not to continue the argument about his attraction to aliens, who, by the way, happen to look like humans, so he couldn’t really understand kind of entity or creature did his friends imagine as Kenny. Probably he did not want to know. 

“Instead of speaking bullshit, why none of you present any ideas that would help me on the long run? Some friends you are.”

“First of all, I think you should start with paying for our food as payment for us, because we had to deal with your tantrum so early in the morning. I would appreciate less phone calls at dawn.” David presented his conditions.

“Fiiine…” Kyle forced the word out. He was really not in the mood or position to be paying for everyone’s breakfasts.

“And maybe it would be the time to answer him?” Stan tried to bring up the most logical step he could come up with. “If I were a lovestruck idiot, who happened to fall for your fine ass, then I’d be anxious to get an answer as soon as possible...”

“Wait…” Kyle halted for a moment. He was about to nod along to Stan’s words but something struck him as odd. “Why? This does not make any sense. Why would anyone be anxious...”

            Colour seeped to his cheeks as he swung his leg under the table and kicked Stan’s shin with force. 

“Did you just compare me to a girl who starts ghosting on men after they confessed their feelings?” another kick. “Did you?!”

“Fuck you, Kyle.” Stan, pulled his chair away from the enraged author. “I just told you what I’d feel if a person like you would not answer!”

            As an answer Kyle slipped lower into his chair, until the tip of his shoe reached Stan, who just turned his legs to the others side in response. 

“A person like me?! What do you mean?!”

            David just blinked and went back to finish his sunny side egg that was masterfully baked into strudel dough. He was really not in the mood to jump in the middle of a fray and to be honest, Stan dug his own grave by trying to be the voice of reason when Kyle is on a rampage. Again. He should’ve learned by this time that he was bad at consoling people.

 

\- - -

 

By noon, Kyle was back in his small study, surrounded by dusty books and soothing silence. He had an idea, a road that he wanted to follow with his story, and while Stan’s wording of the problem hit a nerve with him, he had to admit, that an answer was in order. Furthermore, he had to be fast, because he did not want Kenny to misunderstand his silence as a definite no. 

But the problems started not with his plans regarding the story, but his own inability at writing romance. When it came to adventures, descriptions of various sceneries or machineries, he was fine. Philosophy and satire? He thrived! But romance was this indescribable genre that constantly made him feel embarrassed over his own words, heating up the air around him. It tapped deep into his insecurity, magnifying the human needs that he pushed deep into the ground, then shoveled plenty of ground on top of it. 

Writing romance always made him feel a strange kind of excitement bubble in his guts. As if someone was tickling him from the inside. However, it was more intense than what others described as handful of butterflies. In Kyle’s case this was the same feeling when bees and wasps fly near his skin, sending shivers down his spine before he instinctively ducks away. He would even risk saying, that maybe there was even hundreds of them in his stomach as he was writing his characters pour their hearts out. He was that uncomfortable about romance.

Soon enough, he realized he didn’t want to feel any of that so he gave up on the genre, restricting himself to cold calculations, scientific equations and only representing the six basic emotions he was comfortable writing. Happiness, sadness, fear, disgust, anger, surprise and their various mixtures. There were no heated kisses, meaningful touches and he tried to avoid writing anything like them.

But now, he had to open that casket and revive the monster called Romance.

 

Closing his eyes, he took a sip from his unsweetened, bitter black tea and tried to think of a conclusion, some sort of solution that would close the adventures within the garden. Furthermore, he did not want to make the romance between Cid and Kilian official and recruited. There was much more to explore and he did not want to focus too much on their bumbling romance and relationship problems.

He will set Kilian in front of an important choice. He will either choose to remain in the garden, and continue living in a lie, or go against Noctua, completing Cid’s garden, therefore fully restoring his memories. 

Kenny knew the symbolism behind these characters. After all, he’d hinted this several times in his letters, so Kyle believed that this is the easiest way to get his thoughts across without ruining an entire saga for the sake of his own feelings. 

Setting his cup down next to his typewriter he rolled up a blank paper while his brain frantically tried to put pieces of words together to form some kind of logical connection, and later a set of events that would serve as the base for this story.

He opened up his notebook, turning pages as if he was waiting for the perfect beginning. 

 

However, when the words finally burst forward almost all of his secondhand embarrassment had been washed away. The dam that kept his feelings under control was no more. Kyle suddenly knew what he wanted to write and where he wanted to lead the story and eventually, he managed to reach a needed confession. He held his breath as his fingers slowly tapped out the letters, treading carefully as if his confession could not be corrected and edited. It had to be perfect on his first try.

The scenery depicted the garden before dawn, time of the day that was ultimately deemed to have some sort of magical connotation behind it. Cid was still asleep in their shared room and Kilian went on a morning walk with Noctua in tow. Kyle described flowers, how important they were and what did they symbolize in Cid’s life.

Eventually they reached the innermost part of the garden that symbolized Cid’s heart, where a single pink buttercup stood tall among a group of forget-me-nots. It did not belong there, just like the feelings Cid had for Kilian.

 

_“Are you sure about this?” asked Noctua, its eyes filled with something that resembled concern as Kilian kneeled in front of the flower, waiting, as if he wanted to humor the thought for a while._

_After some time, he spoke again, without turning toward the owl creature._

_“I am. If to be loved by him, means that he is forced to live in an illusion, a false image created by fabricated memories, my heart would know no rest. How could I commit a sin as terrible as that? I’d like to give up that future and continue our journey,” he answered with shaking voice._

_“Would you risk losing the love you have now?” Noctua asked, its dark eyes shining with curiosity._

_“Yes. Without hesitation. This is not him, but an image I’d like to see in a future. In a future, that might never come. Right now, he is a puppet willing to throw himself in harm’s way just to save me.  I love him for who he is, and if he doesn't love me for myself… then truly nothing can be done.”_

_At this point Kilian’s shoulder was shaking, but he pulled out the flower without hesitation, taking its flower bulb, so the buttercup would not have a chance to regrow itself and mess up everything._

_Later, he would cut the flower and treasure the memory of a desire that will probably never turn into reality, but for now he had to go back to Cid. Reassure him that everything is fine and lie to him for the first time in many moons._

_But white lies are good, as long as they exist to protect someone, right?_

 

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a whistling breath. His heart felt free, but at the same time tears started pooling in his eyes and he was about to cry. His throat was sore, as if he was shouting the whole time, his legs were shaking and he was afraid that if he tried to stand up, he would only collapse on the spot.

Who would have thought that writing a scene on unrequited romance would be capable of breaking his heart on the spot?

 

\- - -

 

            Kyle was expecting a new letter in an almost religious manner now. Not a fan letter, but a new, unstamped, unaddressed personal one which kept miraculously appearing with their morning posts for the past few months. When he felt that the at least three weeks have passed after the previous exchange, he happily waltzed the reception desk, throwing hopeful glances towards Bebe’s way. But the woman only tucked her blonde locks behind her ears and shook her head.

“Sorry, Kyle, nothing like that today,” she told him.

“Not even a postcard or something?”

“No. Only the regular fan letters. I assume you don’t want them.”

No, he did not want them. After the previous events, he knew it well that he had to separate his art from the people who consume it. 

 

            In the end he waited another week, and another, walking up to Bebe almost every day, hoping that maybe he will get something, _anything_ from Kenny, however every time the woman just shook her head wearing an sympathetic smile. 

“Maybe something is keeping him away,” she tried to cheer up her coworker. “You know, men can’t really multitask. Maybe it is not different with aliens.”

            If he was in the mood, he would have pointed out that stereotyping is bad, men can and will multitask, but instead he just shrugged, feigning indifference and went back to his seat after muttering a quiet thank you. 

Eventually his daily questions regarding Kenny’s letter turned into a weekly thing as hope slowly left him and gave space to a completely new type of feeling; a strange mixture of anger and disappointment. Did he even read what he wrote? Or maybe his silence was the answer Kyle got after pouring his heart into words and sending it out for the whole world. He truly had no way of telling, because the person in question gave him complete radio silence. 

 

No letters, no flowers, no personal visits. Nothing. 

 

            His feelings were reflected in his writing. Kilian started resenting Cid for something that was not his fault. Eventually the budding romance turned into bitter drama, as the duo bickered more and more on their journeys. It was a poison that slowly tainted everything around Kyle and steeped deep into his actions and thoughts.

As he was about to type out one of these bitter moments, something bubbled up in the pit of his stomach. At first, he thought it was anger, a wild rage because he was betrayed by the person who played his heart like a fiddle. But then more he pondered on it, the more he realized that something was off.

While he hardly talked to Kenny in person, his letters had a certain system behind them. Based on what he could untangle from the mass of information, once a month the station workers were visited by some kind of messenger who delivered their subscriptions, orders and whatnots. The same person took Kenny’s letters back to Earth.

But back in the beginning Kenny told him, that there were special rules applied to correspondence. Rules that he slowly started to bend and break when he started going into personal experiences and described his life and some events at the station.

_What if he got caught?_ The thought flashed through his mind. 

If Kenny got in trouble that would explain his sudden absence. He was not avoiding him, but probably being forced to stop all communications because he broke some kind of stupid space-rule about talking with lower lifeform. Worst of it? Kyle had no way of knowing if this was actually the truth, unless…

As if someone dropped a stone in his stomach, he remembered the night Kenny’d visited him and a row of hastily scribbled numbers. 

He had his number the whole time without ever thinking about using it!

Just how stupid he was? 

 

Cursing himself, Kyle shot up from his desk and almost immediately rushed back to his kitchen as he tried to remember the last known location of the scrap of paper that contained vital informations for the current situation. Hopefully, Wendy did not throw it out when she went on a crusade in his home and threw out everything that could’ve been classified as trash.

_Let’s just hope that she did not think that a phone number belongs to the trash can,_ he thought bitterly, as he started rummaging through his cupboards, pulling out piles of small receipts, bills and other and scraps of paper. 

The phone number was absent from the pile. 

 

His next bet was his work desk. Maybe he’d put it next to his typewriter or managed to mix it up with his work documents!

Returning to his room, within several minutes he managed to turn his neat little study into a messy chaos the moment he started emptying the contents of his drawers onto the floor. He had a habit of putting everything in there, so why would this time be any different?

He sat on the floor, trying to dismantle the mess he had accumulated over the years. Eventually, he had found drafts from six years ago and a long forgotten short story that somehow ended up between several pictures of modern architectures he’d photocopied from a library book.

Once again, no phone number. 

This left him with three possibilities.

1\. He hid it in a book. As a kid, he used to keep his pocket money there, so maybe his bad habit took a hold on him.

2\. It was in his notebook and he managed to lose it somewhere.

3\. It was thrown out. 

            Kyle could only hope that the last two were just theories and Kenny’s last message was still hiding somewhere in his home.

 

            He took deep breath, staring at the ceiling as he tried to go back to that night. 

            Kenny arrived, drank coffee, they talked, he asked for paper and pen, scribbled down his number, then he quickly announced that he has to leave. Kyle jumped after him, Kenny disappeared and then… He furrowed his brows as he tried to remember. He went back to his home, stared at the numbers as if he could memorize them, took it from the table… and jammed it into his pocket.

“Freaking hell,” he cursed loudly as he rushed to his wardrobe and started rummaging for the same pants he had worn on that day. He washed it out! Of course he did! He washed out the only thing that could connect them! He wanted to scream as he pulled out pants after pants, checking both side pockets, and his panic only grew when one of them had a piece of folded paper. 

It was there. Kenny’s number. 

His fingertips went cold as he tried to fold it out. He washed it out god knows how many times now, because the white outside already started to crumble. His heart did a strange kind of jump when he saw that the numbers were faded but somewhat readable. Maybe he did not ruin his own chance at communicating with Kenny! 

 

His heart was beating in his throat as he rushed towards the small hall, right where his phone was and without giving it another thought he started punching in the numbers, all thirty of them. He used his index finger to cover the number he’d previously dialed and read the next one out loud in oder to keep himself focused. Then he waited. The low rhythmic humming of the phone signaled that the call had begun, so the number he had was legit and working. However, nobody answered and after a minute or so, the line disconnected.

Knitting his brows, Kyle redid the whole process, only to get the same result. Maybe Kenny was not near the phone? He did it again.

And again. And again.

Waited an hour and started the whole process from the beginning.

It was night by the time he gave up, the tip of his fingers were aching, his eyes burned as he decided on one last try, before he would do something else. He still had no idea what this _something else_ would exactly be, though. Maybe something that would help him wash off the shame and feeling of failure, that kept eating him away bite by bite. 

Kenny had probably heard the ringing. After all, there was a clear connection, not a dead line.

Strength left his hand as Kyle put the receiver back into its place and he did not even care when the crumpled piece of paper landed on the ground.

As he slumped down in his seat in the living room, his mind was filled with thoughts. His heart ached, a pain coursed through his body. As if a tiny flock of birds kept pecking at it in every second, slowly reducing it to nothing. The uncomfortable lump grew bigger in his throat as he tried to deduce just what happened. Why the sudden change? Did he do something? Or maybe this was all just a game for him and Kenny was actually nothing more than a stalker who enjoyed seeing him suffer? Was there anything between them? At this point a no or a yes would have sufficed. 

He bit his lip as he thought back on Kenny’s letter and his answer, trying to find some kind of connection between the two. 

 

Eventually he came to the conclusion that Kenneth McCormick was a cosmically cruel bastard. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyle gave up. Kenny is nowhere to be found. Things just turned from bad to worse.
> 
> While tripods are generally "3 legged anything" the names comes from H.G. Wells' book "War of the Worlds". You might know it as the radio play that caused mass panic in 1938, because some people only heard the middle of it, completely missing the fact that it was a radio play.
> 
> The coffee going cold thing... That is slightly connected to a supernatural book titled "Before the coffee goes cold." It involves time travelling and seeking closure.


	10. Happy Together

 

As Kyle had expected, Kenny did not try to communicate with him again.

There were no more letters, no flowers, not even a single clue on what happened to him after his last message. Maybe the only things that could have been connected to him in some strange way, were the curious phone calls Kyle got in the middle of the night, mostly between 1 and 2 am. However, his theory was quickly debunked, when it turned out to be some kind of prank call. Whenever he took the receiver, the line went dead. No matter how much he tried to believe that this was some kind of heavenly sign, soon enough he just sighed and ended up putting the receiver next to the phone before going to sleep in order to prevent the calls from finding their way to him.  

Eventually his life went on, as if Kenny McCormick never even really existed in the first place. And just like David had foretold, soon enough, Kyle’s anger evaporated into thin air, leaving scorched earth in its wake. What David forgot to calculate into his theory was the fact that Kyle will take it worse than they’d initially anticipated. Somehow he pushed himself through the stages of grief in a month, usually experiencing two stages at the same time, while constantly stressing over his job and the upcoming release of his first book. In the end, this created an awkward difference about how Kyle acted depending on his surroundings:

If he was alone, his thoughts kept wandering back to Kenny.

If he was at work, he was ready to tear a new larynx on whoever stood in his way when he kept stomping to and fro between Adler’s office and his own desk. He desperately wanted to focus his anger on Adler, but murdering his own boss would definitely ruin his career as an author. He thought the fight has ended when he was allowed to publish for Absolutum, but it was only the beginning of an endless war.

None of his ideas were good enough and the answer to all of them started with a “but why”!

 It would be nice if--- But why? We could use some--- but why? But why? _BUT WHY?_

            So to answer all of these “but whys”, Kyle deliberately kept stalling their progress, while he actively tried to find excuses to undermine the old man’s plans. They eventually decided on a more modern take, and instead of using a photocropped image or something vaguely artistic Adler allowed him to choose an artist who would paint the cover. Kyle only had one request, without ever going deeper into his explanation: no humans should be present. Obviously, as if to mock him, Adler wanted an astronaut, posing pridefully in the middle of the cover extending the stressful negotiations with another week. 

Fortunatelly, in the end, Kyle managed to convince him that if the cover had humans it would look dated in a decade so they settled for the picture of an old pirate ship, sails out, flying towards a tiger-eye colored planet, while in the distance a creature made of stars is watching them carefully. It was not Noctua, but something more eldritch, resembling a western three-headed dragon with moth wings. Did it have any connection to the story? None. But it was not human, so Kyle could allow some artistic freedom here or there. 

The next trial came, when they tried to decide on the inside of the book. Because it used unusual creatures, there was also the idea that each chapter would have a different constellation on the corner of the pages and right next to the title. Kyle’d found it extremely cheesy, but at the same time, he did not dare to go against their designers, knowing that they already did him a big favor by not adding any illustrations of the protagonists. He wouldn’t be able to handle the shameful feeling, if he had to look at Cid and Kilian each time he opens a book.

FInally, the long anticipated release date came and went, his friends even arranged a small get-together to celebrate his success. For weeks, Kyle kept seeing his name and the title of the book as the header of small review articles and it appeared on several book recommendation lists, but once the initial wave died down, things settled into a more laid-back tempo. Something that kept him busy enough to take his mind off of Kenny so he would not catch himself wondering what would he say if he was suddenly confronted by that familiar face.

Shaking his head, he reminded himself that Kenny was in the past. Something who used made him go forward, but only hindered his advancement after his last letter. It was better to keep him as a memory or an experience who made him wiser and more cautious. Really.

 

What he was not expecting, that the Christmas rush would somehow pull him into its stream and knock him into a solid rock wall with full force. He did not celebrate the holiday, but Adler was adamant about throwing him under the truck labeled “consumerism” and arranged a signing event right before the end of the Christmas rush to boost their sales. People lined up not because they worshipped every letter he’d ever put on paper, but because a pretty book, signed by the author himself would make a great dust-collector on the shelf of any uninterested relative. 

After a small interview, he was put on a display in the middle of the store with a cheap desk and a plain dark wooden chair. Next to him there was a small sign stuck to a metal pole, with his name, the name of the book and the timeframes he will be signing said book.

Truth to be told, he felt like an animal in the petting zoo, waiting for its death by the hands of impolite toddlers. 

In the dim light of the store, people walked around him, as if they were assessing him from the distance, trying to determine if he was worth the time and money. Kyle tried to calm himself by cracking his knuckles and fixating his gaze from shelf to shelf, spending a minute or two on each section as he tried to read some of the titles. His overall experience so far was anything but great. The staff kept asking him about his well-being, his thoughts about the bookstore, but aside from that they just stepped over him as if he was part of the store.  

Kyle expected something like this, but he had no idea how lonely it can get.  

A small author. With his first book. It was obvious that people wouldn’t flock to him at first. But even he did not expect that after the first big wave, people will continue to swarm around him and only one or two will deem him worthy of baptize their gift with his signature. 

After three hours of sitting in the same place, he started throwing hopeful glances towards the glass windowed entrance. Outside the cloud-covered skies have turned dark, getting an orange and purple tint thanks to the streetlamps and fat snowflakes started pepperring the ground, slowly covering the concrete with a white blanket. Walking home sounded less and less inviting as time went on and snow started piling up against the glass. 

Sensing that the weather will soon turn dire, people slowly left the building leaving him alone with the staff and few window-shoppers who kept walking around him hesitantly as if they were trying to decide whether or not take the bargain and buy his book. But he couldn’t just leave once he realized that nobody will bother with a meet and greet, right? Adler would probably kick his rear and give his upcoming dates to Tucker. 

He still had 10 minutes left, then he was free to go home.

What he did not expect that these ten minutes will be longer than the entirety of the 4 hours he had to spend in the bookstore, acting as bio-decoration.

 

            He was starting to put his pens away, when the heavy glass door opened and a familiar face stepped into the shop. Kyle’s stomach almost immediately made an uncomfortable jump. He felt hopeful, happy but indescribably bitter and angry at the same time. The blond’s head and shoulders were covered by a layer of snow, with some pieces stuck to his pockets and the seamline of his orange coat. In his hand, he held something long, wrapped in bright blue paper.

Averting his gaze, Kyle quietly prayed that he won’t be noticed and they don’t have to go through an awkward conversation, but Fortuna was not on his side today, because in the following moments their eyes met. Like two frightened birds who flew into each other, when the wind had swept them up from their branches. 

Kyle was pretty sure Kenny’s face brightened up for a moment, before happiness completely wilted away from his face to hide beneath a solemn expression. The author couldn’t blame him, as he desperately fought back to keep an instinctive smile under wraps and had to remind himself that the man in front of him deserves no smiles. Absolutely none. He was angry. And Kenny needs to know that he is angry! He can’t just waltz back into his life and act as if nothing had happened! Like the whole thing just gets forgotten the moment they meet!

            However, just like the snow on Kenny’s hair, his anger melted away the moment the boy carefully strode toward his desk. Kyle had to realize that something prevented him from lashing out. This was not the type of explosive anger he often felt towards Cartman or Stan.

As Kenny stopped in front of him and he was forced to look up, he couldn’t help but notice how much he had changed. His skin had gone past pale and almost reminded him of a ghost. His lashes drooped sadly as his hands tightened around the gift. While he did not avert his gaze, but Kyle was sure that all he wanted to do was to run far far away from him and hide under a bed for the rest of the century.

“The signing session is over,” Kyle told him, but his voice shook slightly from the overpouring emotions.

“I-I did not come here for a signature,” was Kenny’s curt answer.

“Good. That means I can finally go home.”

To his answer, fear flashed through the blond’s eyes.

“M-Maybe I do want a signature! Please?” 

Heaving a sigh, Kyle knitted his eyebrows together with a sad look.

“Fine...” he opened a brand new copy, looking at Kenny reproachfully. “Your name?”

“Kyle, look, I know you are angry, But I… I’m sorry. ” Kenny muttered, awkwardly twirling the wrapper object in his hand.  “I can explain, if you are willing to give me at least half an hour! If not, then that’s alright too, I’ll accept your decision and I won’t ever bother you.”

Kyle wanted to throw the book at him, then maybe throw his glass of water in Kenny’s face, but as he looked at the man he just couldn’t get himself to say or do anything the like. As if the scorching flames that kept him going up until now were suddenly extinguished by the sheer presence of the cybernetician. 

Worst of it, the butterflies were back, and they kept multiplying to the point it was hard to breathe! He completely forgot how beautiful were those slightly mismatched eyes and now they pulled him in again with no chance to escape. If Kenny wanted to confess his undying love for him, this would have been the best opportunity as his defenses were completely destroyed. 

Thankfully, he managed to soothe his excitement, and put on a neutral face.

“Thirty minutes. If you can explain it in thirty minutes, I might think about it. If not...”

“I understand.”

  Nodding to himself, he put his things away, and left the table, only to lead Kenny to a narrow staircase that went up right in the middle of the bookstore. As they took the steps they slowly got to the same height of the bookshelves, striking Kenny in awe as he watched the colorful microcosm that swirled beneath them. It was as if someone planned to add a floor, but left it unfinished halfway, and instead of raising a wall, they put down thing wooden rail where one could take a glance at the entire store. Upstairs, the store had set a small reading corner and collected the history and philosophy sections lived their life, separated from the rest, so only those who were actively seeking them dared to visit this corner of the store. They sat in the two small sofas that were an arm’s reach away from the shelves around them. Kyle could swear that Kenny felt more and more uncomfortable with each passing moment. He was about to reassure him, when he reminded himself about the situation.

They kept looking at shelves behind each other as a way to avoid direct eye-contact, before Kenny finally collected enough courage for a heartfelt apology and started hastily putting words next to each other. 

“First of all, I’m sorry. For everything. You probably think I’m here to ask for pity and you are somewhat right.” Kenny looked up at last, smiling tiredly at him. “I know I told you this, at the station, my job was to write up numbers, differences, collect anything that might be a crucial information in the civilizational steps of Terra. The rest is classified, but it was anything but exciting. Your stories kept me going and when we met I just thought ‘I want to know this person”... I managed to convince a friend to deliver letters to you with the usual cargo. We decided that the publisher's building is more secluded for private letters than a house in the suburbs.”  
“Wait, I thought you could write letters if you weren’t talking about certain topics…”

Kenny flushed in shame. 

“Well, not really. You should not even know about my existence in the first place…”

“And what would they do to you if they’ve found out about it?”

Kenny bit his lips as he stared down at his knees, making the answer obvious to Kyle.

“You risked your life for letters...” the redhead looked at him in disbelief.

“What can I say, I am not very smart,” Kenny laughed awkwardly, kneading on the crumpled paper.

“No, shit Sherlock.” Kyle gave him a brief smile. His voice lacked the usual edge and he was honestly curious about Kenny’s misadventures. “You have a way of catching my attention. What came after that?”

“Nothing much. I realized… I wanted to be near you in every sense of the word, but with the current setting that was simply impossible. Then I saw an open position here on Terra and decided to apply and then I started collecting money to afford a better prosthetic arm. Something that actually looks real and helps me blend in.”

  Most of the details went over Kyle’s head, what mattered to him was the tiny crumble of information: Kenny was not ignoring him. He was simply busy and tried to get his life together.

“They started observing my actions, measuring the time I spent on daily activities, so I had to cut connections with you, but at the time nothing was certain and--”

Something started destroying the fluttering butterflies and Kyle could feel them drop one by one.

“You did not want to get my hopes up, so you crushed them completely. I get it.” the words found their way to Kyle’s quivering lips. “Do you have any idea how much I hated you? How much I wanted to strangle you for playing with my feelings? I loathed you over a misunderstanding… Fuck.” he slumped lower in his seat, silently hoping that the History of Archeology book falls on his head and finishes him.

“Well, I can’t say I handled the situation with grace either...” Kenny’s earlobes burned. “ I thought you have given up on me, then the phone-calls started happening. For almost two days. We thought that there was a bug in our system, but all I could think of ‘Well, I fucked this up, didn’t I?’”

“If it was anything similar like your calls on my end, then you had it coming,” Kyle snorted, imagining a room full of high-tech scientist trying to solve a puzzle behind a prank call in outer space. 

“Absolutely,” Kenny nodded along. “I should have thought about the distance and time zones, before telling you to call me... I'm still not sure how the call even went through in the first place.”

"You are not alone with that. Sounds crazy, like something straight out of science fiction," he smiled at him for the first time this evening.

While life seemed to sort itself out in the end, despite the positive turn of events Kyle still had a question that kept appearing at the back of his mind, nudging him to cut in and ask it right away. 

“But if you are here, does this mean…” he started with uncertainty.

“I got the job and I am here to stay!”

“Good,” Kyle smiled, however quickly added. “But just so you know, I’m still angry with you and you are going to hear that a lot.” 

            It seemed that Kenny was prepared for everything but this. His smile faded for a moment, and he looked confused. Probably he either expected Kyle to lash out, or just ignore him completely so the calm reaction completely threw off his momentum. Emotions raced through his heart as he tried to read Kyle’s expression, but he just couldn’t solve the puzzle. 

He came here to get rejected and now Kyle was giving out an entire bag of mixed signals! 

“Then… Since you haven't kicked my ass out yet and you have finished your business here, would it be alright to walk you home?” he asked nervously, deep down readying himself for another rejection. He deserved it, after all. However Kyle only closed his eyes, and with a huff and a tiniest of smile said:

“Sure. Why not.” 

\- - -

 

The fresh snow softly crunched under their feet as they walked forward in silence, the orange street lamps painting the world of white into calming sepia around them. 

Kyle felt that if he starts a conversation now, he will ruin everything and Kenny would disappear into thin air. 

Kenny on the other hand didn’t know how to begin or how to progress from there. Kyle was like a puzzle that had several death-traps hidden inside in the case of bad moves and false answers. 

“The cover of your book… looks really nice,” he started, playing with the furred hem of his orange coat by pulling and pushing its zipper as they walked in the snowfall.

“Thanks,” Kyle answered quietly and shut down the conversation. It was clear that he was not interested in further explanations.

 

However, Kenny did not give up. He came with a goal so he might as well accomplish something today and at this point, he had nothing to lose. 

“You know, when I told you that your writings were the best part of my day I was not kidding. They really helped... Especially the one where the locals looked at Cid and Killian like they were bunch of idiots.”

He saw a tiny smile flash through Kyle’s face. A barely visible arch in his eyebrows as he thought back on the story. It was about Cid and Kilian stumbling into a planet, where they were treated like two bumbling idiots despite the fact that the planet’s civilization haven’t even invented carts yet.

Once again silence enveloped the two of them as snowflakes slowly started piling up on their shoulders. 

“You know, at first, I fell in love with your writing,” Kenny admitted ruefully, pulling the strings tighter until, his mouth was completely covered by brown fur. “But when we started sending messages to each other, I realized that your writing has nothing to do with my feelings… Man, this sounded better in my head.”

 Kyle did not answer at first, just walked forward while keeping his eyes on the ground before him. 

“At first, I think I fell in love with the concept of a handsome man liking my words. But the more I read about you, the more I realized that this… might not be the case.”

“Well, what can I say, you can’t fight with my charm,” Kenny laughed. 

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me?” 

“No. You are not going to bait an author into that old cliché,” Kyle huffed. “I’m still angry about your little antics.” 

“And what can I do to placate you? I’m open for every option.” 

“I wonder…”

Kyle had ideas. Several of them, in fact. But each of them were more embarrassing than the other, so he choose to remain silent in the end, enjoying the various expressions Kenny had shown him as he tried to come up with something. The real answer was so simple and short, but the blond probably went through a number of complicated and cheesy ideas. 

However the more he waited, the faster he realized that Kenny would get the moon for him before arriving to the simplest solution.

“Stay,” he blurted out at last, feeling the heat rise to his face. “You can start amending it by staying.” 

Kenny’s feet gradually stopped and looked at Kyle with disbelief in his eyes.

“Are you sure? I mean, I am not the best person to be around and all. I’m not even sure why do you let me near you right now.”

            Kyle frowned, as he stepped closer to gently swipe off the snowflakes from Kenny’s bangs and loosen the parka around his face.

“Do you ever just start reading a book that you can’t get out of your head? Each day and night, your thoughts are completely occupied by it even after you are several hundred pages in.” Kyle said with a brief smile. “For months, I firmly believed I had lost my book, but now that I found it, there is no way I’ll just threw it away.”

            Kenny was struck speechless.

“Does this mean that you would give Cináed another chance?”

“Cináed? No way,” Kyle shook his head, secretly enjoying the way Kenny’s eyes widened at his statement. “But I would not say no to Kenny or even a Kenneth. Last name must be McCormick, though.” 

He looked up at Kenny, expecting the next steps from him after letting his thoughts shake themselves free from his mind. But his words seemed to shake Kenny to his core. His eyes widened slightly, and blinked in confusion as the pieces probably slowly started to form a full picture in his mind. 

“Does this means what I think it means…?”

“Yeah.”

 Kyle'd thought that he was ready for almost everything, and yet the next second completely took him off guard, causing him to drop his leather bag on the snowy ground. Someone crashed into him with full force and he was sure his feet left the ground the moment Kenny pulled Kyle close and twirled him around. Planting a small kiss on his jaw and face as he laughed.

“Thank you! Thank you, Ky!” he heard Kenny laugh, once the world finally stopped spinning and the man was resting his chin on his snow-covered shoulders. 

Kyle was about to close his eyes and enjoy the moment, when reality and cold finally kicked in and he quickly ducked to retry his bag, before his notes and books get completely submerged in water. Cursing loudly to himself, he started swiping the snow off it, shaking it with a bewildered face as if the object was the key to his lifeforce. 

At first Kenny was surprised, his eyes glinting with curiosity at Kyle’s actions, but the more he watched the author helplessly trying to keep snow away from his bag, checking the contents while accidentally letting some of the ice-flowers in.

As Kyle looked up, the man threw him a disbelieving look as beads of melted snow slowly rolled down his glasses.

“What’s so funny? You are smiling like a fox from a children’s storybook.” 

“It’s nothing,” Kenny chuckled, smiling wryly.

“Your smile just got wider.” 

“Really? I haven’t noticed,” Kenny shrugged, pulling the hem of his jacket back up to his lips.

“No, I’m pretty sure it did. And do you want to talk about that flower or you will just keep waving it like a feather duster?” Kyle pointed out the crumpled paper. Something that bothered him ever since Kenny appeared in the bookstore. 

At this the blond’s face went pale, his mischievous mood immediately disappeared. There was a moment of rest when Kenny stared at him dumbfounded, then looked down at the flower in his hand. He opened and closed his mouth several times, before awkwardly hiding the battered paper behind him.

“Maybe let’s not talk about it.”

“I don’t mind owning Schrödinger’s flower, you know. You spent money on it, after all.”

“What? This is not for Schrödinger... I just forgot about it with everything going on,” Kenny tried to save face. “I swear it’s the prosthetic. Sometimes I don’t notice that I am holding onto things.”

            Kyle didn’t stop to correct or lecture Kenny about the theory made by an Austrian physicist. And no matter how much he tried to find out more about Kenny’s arm, he swallowed his questions, trying to gain control over his unappeasable curiosity. 

“Maybe if we get home fast, we can still save it, “ he offered, stepping closer to pry the paper out of Kenny’s iron grip. “And you could finally tell me everything without my fingers freezing off.”

“Hm, sounds like a nice deal.”

As if this was a trick by some beginner magician, the air around them changed once more and the suffocating silence disappeared without a trace. The two of them walked side by side, their fingers brushing when the distance between them shrunk after a while.

 

Kenny wondered if he should warn Kyle about the aimless phonecalls that he will get in the upcoming weeks. In his elated haste, he completely forgot to calculate the time needed for phonecalls to reach Earth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are, at the end of the story that originally started out as nothing longer than a three chapter-practice to get myself back into writing about the orange boys and just writing in general. In the end, it followed a completely different formula than my previous works and I think I ended up learning a lot both about writing and about the sci-fi novelists of the 70-80's. SO many of these conflicts could have been solved by talking about it, but this was the trick, by pulling the rug from under them it distrupted their dynamic and turned it upside down. 
> 
> Kyle was left alone with his anger, while Kenny was ready to give up on everything, because when he said that he did not take the whole separation well, he meant every word of it. Maybe I might even write an extra chapter about his experiences in the Future? I mean he is an alien, and deserves to tell his own story. Maybe the story of how he helped Kyle writing something raunchy for the bunnygirl magazine?
> 
> Kenny does not know Schröedinger, because he mostly consumes science fiction, ocassionaly some classics that can hold his attention. Other than that, he has no knowledge of Earth and its important/well-known people. (He keeps mixing up Shakespeare and Einstein.) 
> 
> The first few chapters were written while I was listening to the Florence ost, while the second half used more from The Theory of Everything. 
> 
> Thank you for humoring me for 10 chapters! I hope we meet again in a different story!

**Author's Note:**

> And it's done, the Alien/Author AU I kept talking about! And while I want to blabber about Kenny I have to stop myself, because then you would know more about him than Kyle, and this story is a kind of beast that goes on exploring the unknown. How will Kenny help him getting his career out of the pits? How will Kyle use these informations?
> 
> Absolutum, the name of Kyle's publisher and the magazine he publishes in actually comes from Karel Čapek's work, The Absolute at Large (1922) while the view on sci-fi is mostly what I noticed by watching older movies and reading books, so it's more of a personal experience, than a well-researched one. 
> 
> (I'm actually tempted to write about how The Adventures of Space Cadet Stripe came to life with Craig as the author and Tweek as his illlustrator.)
> 
> Keep in mind, this story will be slow to update. (Probably not as slow once I finally get to edit the queued chapters I've finished in my abscence.)


End file.
